


Fate and Other Lessons

by DistractedSiren



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Byleth does not understand flirting, Byleth is competitive, Character Death, Claude schemes himself right into falling in love, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Friendly Rivalry, Friends to Lovers, Jeralt lives, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rhea is the bad guy for story purposes, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, but it isn’t Byleth or Claude, most everyone in the game gets at least a mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2020-10-27 00:46:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20751539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DistractedSiren/pseuds/DistractedSiren
Summary: When she'd been a young Blue Lion at Garreg Mach, Byleth had been certain that Claude von Riegan, leader of the Golden Deer, had done everything in his power to make her life difficult.Now, four years later, Byleth finds herself teaching at the Officers Academy alongside her old rival, and he's just as annoying and distracting as he was when they were eighteen. He's also at least twice as handsome. The pair are quickly back at each other's throats, only Byleth has no idea that now all of their interactions are fraught with sexual tension. Claude, on the other hand, is hardly aware of anything else. And their students? Their students are on the verge of locking them in the Goddess Tower together and leaving them there until they figure it out.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still at work on the last chapter of "Catalyst," and it's a monster, so I thought I'd post this up in the meantime.
> 
> There are some spoilers for the lore of FE: Three Houses. This story is an AU and will definitely go its own way, but spoilers about Rhea and what she wants from Byleth abound.
> 
> Mostly though, this is just an excuse to write Byleth and Claude reviving an old student rivalry and making everyone else a little crazy.

Coming back to Garreg Mach is…strange.

Four years ago, she’d spent one year of her life in this place as a student in the Blue Lion House. She hadn’t wanted to attend, but her father had been forced back into the Knights of Seiros and wouldn’t be leaving any time soon, so she’d accepted the chance to further her expertise in combat.

Despite her mostly fond memories of the school, Byleth had never intended to return. She still thinks it’s probably a bad idea, but as she’s standing in the audience chamber in front of Lady Rhea, she also acknowledges that it’s probably too late to turn back now.

“I’m so pleased you’ve returned to us. I know the students will thrive under your instruction,” Rhea tells her, and there’s real happiness in her eyes. That only sets off more alarm bells for Byleth. She’s never fully trusted Rhea. The archbishop has always looked at her like she’s _waiting _for something. For what, Byleth isn’t sure, but the feeling is an uncomfortable one. She wouldn’t have returned at all if the other woman hadn’t promised her some answers about her mother and the circumstances of her birth.

Rhea’s voice cuts into her thoughts. “I assume you don’t need a tour of the facilities, so perhaps we should get right to the introductions? Professor Hanneman has retired, but Professor Manuela is still here, and you may recognize your second colleague as well.”

As Rhea speaks, she lifts a hand and gestures to Seteth, and her steward ushers in two familiar figures. Manuela is a welcome enough sight, but the other…

Back when she’d been a student, Claude von Riegan had been the bane of her existence. He’d been the leader of the Golden Deer and she’d been a Blue Lion, and as members of rival houses, some measure of competition was to be expected. Yet Claude always taken it a step—or ten—further than that. He’d followed her through the halls, distracted her from her studies, tried to tease her into making mistakes in the training yard. Mock battles usually ended with them facing off against one another, him sporting a dashing smile and her wishing she could wipe it off his face once and for all. On top of all his other antics, he’d prodded her daily about her secrets and the mysteries surrounding her birth, but refused to be forthright about his own past.

But the worst part had been the way the other students had all construed his interest as…well, _interest._ As though he were pursuing some sort of romance with her, instead of trying to get her guard down so he’d finally have the advantage over her and her fellow Blue Lions.

And she hadn’t exactly been immune to his charms either; she’d been a teenager, as hormonal as the rest of them, and Claude had been handsome and clever and skilled. When he’d teased her or winked at her or invaded her personal space, it had never failed to send a strange sort of static charge through her blood. But she’d always been very careful never to let him see the effect he’d had on her back then.

And now? Now that static charge is a bolt of pure electricity. If Claude had been roguishly handsome when they’d both been eighteen, he has become downright breathtaking in their years apart. Those green eyes she remembers so well are just as arresting as ever, and his smile is a wicked curl of a mouth that has only grown more generous with the passage of time. His hair is an artful mess, the waves of it pushed back with a sort of nonchalance that underlines his effortless appeal. A strand it has fallen forward into his face, almost daring her to push it back out of his eyes. And those shoulders—

_Damn him._

He sees her recognition and has the audacity to _wink_ at her as he and Manuela approach. There’s a sparkle in his eyes too, like her reaction is just what he expected it to be, and a frisson of annoyance runs down her spine.

Coming back to Garreg Mach is _definitely_ a bad idea.

“Miss Eisner! You’ve matured into such a beautiful young woman! Though I suppose I should be calling you Professor now,” Manuela is gushing. Byleth forces her attention away from Claude, and her expression softens a little at Manuela’s enthusiasm.

“Byleth is fine,” she says. “It’s nice to see you again, Professor.”

“I hope you’ll join me for tea? I’d love to catch up.”

Before Byleth can accept her invitation, Claude breaks in. He never could stand not being the center of attention for long.

“Eisner! Long time no see. You’re going to teach here too, huh?” he asks, as though the answer isn’t obvious. Byleth tries to remind her shoulders to relax. “Small world, isn’t it? I was surprised when Rhea told me you’d taken the job. I wonder what the students will make of you, Teach.”

“_Teach?_” she repeats, incredulous.

That grin of his is back. He shrugs at her like he hasn’t been planning on calling her that since the instant he found out they are to be colleagues. “It suits you,” is all he says.

This is a nightmare, isn’t it? Any moment now, she’ll wake up in her bedroll somewhere far away from Garreg Mach, miles and miles away from the man who tormented her teenage years.

But of course she doesn’t. The goddess has a sense of humor, it seems, and Byleth remains the butt of the joke.

Lady Rhea doesn’t either doesn’t notice her discomfort, or chooses to ignore it. She takes charge of the conversation once again to explain that, “Claude has already volunteered to lead the Golden Deer, and I took the liberty of assuming you’d be most comfortable leading the Blue Lions. Professor Manuela is happy to do so if you’d rather lead the Black Eagles.”

Byleth cuts her off. “That won’t be necessary. I’d be happy to lead the Blue Lions.”

“Just like old times,” Claude cuts in with a grin. Byleth feels her fingers flex, a sure sign of her annoyance. The fact that she has such an obvious tell only adds to her agitation.

“You’d better hope not, von Riegan, or this year is bound to be embarrassing for you,” she snaps back before she’s even aware that she intended to speak. Immediately, his grin turns roguish. He's always loved a challenge.

“Is that so, Teach? I think you might find that I have a few tricks up my sleeve,” he says, pitching his voice so that it’s low and compelling, almost a purr.

He’s lost his mind if he thinks that’s going to work. Sure, his eyes are her favorite color, but she isn’t going to forget herself and start spending all her time sighing over him like some lovesick ninny. And if he thinks his natural allure is going to win him an easy victory for the Golden Deer, he’s wrong. Savoring the look on his face when he realizes just how wrong will, she expects, feel wonderful.

Manuela’s delighted stage laugh cuts through the tension before Byleth can come up with a sufficiently witty reply.

“My my, this is shaping up to be an interesting year,” she says, looking back and forth between the younger professors. “Did I hear right? Are we starting the year off with a mock battle?”

Rhea starts to confirm this, but Claude is already talking. “This is going to be our victory, Teach. I’ve seen your little lion cubs, and they don’t stand a chance.”

Byleth shakes her head at him. “That’s an awfully hasty judgement. We shall have to correct it.”

His smile now is downright predatory. “I look forward to it,” he tells her. Then he spins on his heel and strides out of the room, ignoring Seteth’s protests that he hasn’t been dismissed yet. Manuela crosses her arms over her chest and shakes her head.

“Well, I can see the competition will be fierce. I had better get back to my students and get them whipped into shape. I have a feeling they’re going to need to be ready if they get caught in between you two.”

She leaves as well, and Byleth lets out a breath. What the hell had come over her? He’d always been able to provoke her emotions easier than most, but this…With just a few words, Claude had sent her back in time and ignited their rivalry once more. If she’s not careful, she’ll play right into his hands. He must be congratulating himself on getting to her already…

“Well, I…suppose there’s nothing left for me to tell you today. Perhaps you should meet with the students of your house,” Rhea says. Byleth nods but her mind is already far away, picturing the practice field they’d used for mock battles in her student days. She’ll have to survey the condition of the field herself. After their meeting, she can’t let Claude have such an early victory, or else the rest of the year is going hell for her.

_Damn it, _she thinks. _Some seasoned merc I am…he’s already in my head and classes haven’t even started yet…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a tough one and gave me a lot of trouble at first. But from here on out I think it's going to be a blast!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There’s history here,” Hilda announces suddenly, gesturing back and forth between Byleth and Claude. “Just look, they’re doing that thing where they’re speaking to each other with their eyes. You two *definitely* know each other.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I snuck a plot into this and I don't have it all planned out because I enjoy torturing myself. But don't worry, I plan on this being pretty lighthearted and fun and full of UST with just a side of suspicious church stuff.
> 
> Also, the rating for this one may change at some point.
> 
> Friends...I just can't stop writing for these two. Look for a couple one-shots coming up soon, too.

By the time Byleth makes her way back into the sunshine, her emotions have simmered down. She’s grateful for that. It’s rare that she responds so strongly to someone, but her history with Claude always manages to stir up frustration. To clear her mind further, she enters the Blue Lion’s homeroom. The classroom is just how she remembers it: a lectern in the front, a blackboard, two roaring fires and two neat rows of desks and chairs. She takes her place behind the lectern and looks out over the rest of the room. Seeing it from this perspective is strange, but she knows she’ll soon be used to it.

Suddenly the room starts filling with students. They pour in through the open door, all wearing the school’s uniforms and all with wide, curious eyes. A tall, blonde man approaches her at the head of the group, his expression serious but welcoming.

“I hear you are our new professor. Is it true you grew up as a mercenary?” he asks. His voice is deeper than she might have expected. Before she can answer, he seems to catch himself. Looking surprised by his own forwardness, he bows and adds, “Pray forgive me, I was so excited that I neglected my manners. My name is Dimitri—“”

“This is the Kingdom’s crown prince,” a dark-haired man interrupts. He looks sharp and impatient. “It would have taken him fifteen minutes to tell you himself.”

“Felix! I’m sorry, Professor, Felix is very…straightforward,” a blonde girl explains. Like her prince, she bows with perfect etiquette. One by one, she and the others introduce themselves. Sylvain is the last to make Byleth’s acquaintance, and when it’s his turn he makes a grand show of taking her hand and bowing over it while he promises to make her proud and to study as if his life depends on it.

“Your life _does_ depend on it,” she reminds him. “This may seem as far from a battlefield as it’s possible to get, but what we learn here could make all the difference when you face an enemy bent on killing you.”

“What _we_ learn?” asks the tall man from Duscur, Dedue.

“Absolutely. I may be your professor, but each of you will certainly have something new to teach me, and I’m sure that before long, we will all be pushing each other to our limits in the training yard. Tactics and strategy you can learn, but technique, endurance and strength must be constantly and carefully maintained. Skills go to rust very quickly, something no fighter can afford. We will need each other to achieve our best.”

“I can’t wait to start,” Ashe says with glowing eyes. “I want to learn everything I can, from all of you.”

“I’m anxious to begin too,” Ingrid adds. “I feel like there’s so much more I need to know.”

“I’m sure your fighting is a thing of beauty. After all, everything about you is a thing of beauty. I’m looking forward to seeing you in action,” Sylvain says, smiling at her as though he’s awed by her. At least her time with Claude will be good for something: she’ll always know exactly how to handle Sylvain’s brand of overblown flirting.

“Just don’t drown me in book work,” Felix mumbles. “Tactics are important, but in the end it all comes down to you, your weapon and your skill.”

Mercedes gives a thoughtful hum. “Well, I may never be much of a warrior, but I can certainly help anyone who ends up injured. That will be an asset to the team, won’t it, Professor?”

“An essential asset,” Byleth confirms with a nod.

“I’ll be an asset too, Professor,” Annette assures her. “I want to learn everything you can teach me, so I can do my best on and off the battlefield.”

She’s tiny but so determined that Byleth feels preemptively bad for anyone that might underestimate her during their upcoming mock battle.

“Excellent. Today I want to sit down with each of you and go over your goals and skills. There are only a few days until we face off against our rival houses, so starting tomorrow, our objectives will be to make sure you’re well rested and your gear is in good repair.”

“That sounds like an excellent place to start, if I may say so,” Dimitri says. His smile is pleased, as though she has passed some sort of test with him. “Permit me to be the first to sit with you, Professor. I find myself most anxious to begin.”

Byleth nods and gestures for him to follow her to a seat near one of the fires. So far, it seems as though all her Blue Lions are eager to get to work. They’ve certainly submitted to her leadership easily enough, not even questioning the fact that she’s only a few years out of the classroom herself.

Claude may have called them cubs, but even cubs have claws. Fawns, on the other hand, are all but defenseless.

* * *

After brief _tête-à-tête_ discussions with each of her new students, Byleth decides to wander the monastery grounds. The Black Eagle homeroom is quiet, but she can hear a tumult as she passes the Golden Deer, and a quick glance shows her that Claude is engaged in an outright argument with two of his students.

She’s glad he’s sufficiently distracted not to notice her passing his classroom, though. She has no desire for another confrontation. And she _almost_ makes it by without incident when a high voice calls out, “Hey, isn’t that the new professor? The mercenary?”

Claude’s head snaps around and he spots her just at the moment she would have passed out of view.

“Good eye, Hilda. Hey Teach, wanna come meet the competition?” he calls out to her. Byleth most decidedly does _not_ want to meet them all at this particular moment, but she can hardly say no when half of them are already out of their chairs and bowing to her.

Hilda, the pink-haired girl that had spotted her, was the first to make her way over. “You’re _pretty,”_ she says when she comes to a stop.

“I—thank you,” Byleth replies, unsure of exactly what the appropriate response would be. The thank you seems to satisfy Hilda, however. She flashes Claude a significant look.

“Claude didn’t mention that you’re pretty.”

He lifts his hands in a shrug as he joins them. “I thought the part about her being an experienced and deadly mercenary was a _tad_ more important, but yes: Teach is also pretty.”

Byleth shoots him a warning glare. The look he gives her in return is as innocent as a newborn pegasus.

“Hello! I’m Ignatz—” a young man starts, but the much bigger Raphael drowns him out with his own introduction. There’s a girl that says something about being Jeralt’s first and best apprentice, but she doesn’t catch it over Lysithea chiding them all about swarming the new professor too quickly.

Another of them, a tall man with light purple hair, introduces himself with such smug self-assurance that Byleth finds herself glancing at Claude. He rolls his eyes at her and gives a short nod. That one look is so communicative that she can almost hear his voice saying: _Oh yeah, Teach, he’s being one hundred percent serious, see what I have to deal with?_

“There’s history here,” Hilda announces suddenly, gesturing back and forth between Byleth and Claude. “Just look, they’re doing that thing where they’re speaking to each other with their eyes. You two _definitely _know each other.”

“We attended the academy at the same time,” Byleth explains, now very careful to keep her gaze from straying to Claude. Still, she can see him nod in her peripheral vision.

“That’s true. Unfortunately for me, Teach here wasn’t in my class. She gave us Deer a real run for our money in those days, but her fellow Lions weren’t made of the same stuff. We won the Battle of the Eagle and Lion no problem, but it took four of us to take her down.” That predatory grin is back, and she looks up just as his emerald eyes flash her way. “It’ll be the same this year.”

“You’ve always been overconfident,” Byleth says with a little shrug. She’s glad that her voice is even and normal. The surprise of seeing him in the audience chamber has worn off, and she feels much more like herself now. Much less emotional.

But perhaps she’s the one that’s overconfident. Her blood pulses hard when that damn strand of hair falls into his eyes again. He’s taller than her in a way that draws her in, which is an urge she doesn’t understand but feels she must ignore. As the moment stretches, he gazes at her like he’s actually fond of their antagonistic relationship. It’s as though she can feel the charm rolling off of him in waves as he leans into her personal space the way he always did back when they had been students together.

“C’mon Teach, admit it—I gave you a run for your money back then too,” he purrs conspiratorially, his lips curling up just a little at the corners. “I challenged you when no one else could.”

Suddenly, Byleth is very aware that all of Claude’s students—and some of her own—are watching this exchange very closely. It helps her to break the spell and she frowns at him a little.

“I’m afraid that’s not how I remember it,” she says to him, perfectly mild. He draws back, his smile only widening at her refusal to admit it. She decides that now is the perfect time to leave and turns toward the dining hall. Before she can escape, Claude catches her arm and leans in close again.

“That,” he murmurs in her ear, “was definitely your lying face.”

Then he lets her go and steps back, and she’s forced to hurry away before the students can see the flush that’s staining her cheeks.

* * *

If Fódlan’s goddess truly exists, Claude gets the feeling that she’s messing with him.

His reasons for returning to Garreg Mach are dangerous. If his investigation is discovered, he’ll likely be labeled a heretic and killed. His half-Almyran heritage will only make it easier for them to justify eliminating him: no one would argue with putting down an apostate foreigner. Yet he has had a bad feeling about Lady Rhea and her leadership of the Church of Seiros for years, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t think it would be better for Fódlan if the church relaxed its grip a little bit. So here he is, at the heart of it all, preparing to dig deep into the secrets that Rhea and Seteth have worked so hard to hide.

And just as he’s getting started, Byleth appears. That can’t be a coincidence, can it? She’s yet another mystery, one that must be closely connected to whatever it is Rhea wants so badly. The archbishop has never been able to mask her interest in the girl, and now she’s lured her back to Garreg Mach, no doubt to keep her close. Something is about to happen, and whatever that something is, Byleth is a part of it.

For a man who loves to uncover secrets and foil schemes, this situation is irresistible. But then, Byleth has always intrigued him. He’d discovered years ago that she rides on top of the emotional currents running through her, occasionally dipping her toes in when their tides ran too high, but generally able to skim over their surface without any trouble. A year’s worth of teasing and pushing and flirting had finally cracked her a little: with him, she had begun to respond more passionately than she had with any of their other classmates. But graduation had come and he hadn’t expected to see her again.

That had frustrated him. Just when he was making progress with her, life—or perhaps fate—had sent them down separate paths. Getting to know her had led to more questions than answers, and he hadn’t been ready to let her go when they’d been forced to part.

Yet she’s here now. And he still knows next to nothing about her, despite the fact that she has never been anything but forthright with him. And whatever is happening behind the scenes here at Garreg Mach is already gaining momentum now that she’s back. He’ll have to be careful, but with Byleth here he also feels more confident that he’ll be able to piece together enough of the puzzle to finally understand what’s going on.

But there’s something else about her, something that interests him other than her secrets. She’s barely been in his life again for two days, and already he finds her utterly distracting. She’s not even distracting him on purpose. Claude’s certain of that.

Well, almost certain. There’s no way that Byleth can be completely oblivious to her myriad charms. He’d had a crush on her when they’d been eighteen. Now he isn’t sure if crush quite captures just how much she appeals to him. Her prodigious intelligence and skill, the air of mystery about her, the expressiveness of her eyes when he pushes just a little too much, the fact that if he were to wrap his arms around her they’d fit together like she’d been made just for him…it all adds up to so much more than a passing infatuation.

He’s a little annoyed that his body is so quick to betray him whenever she’s near. Even her scent is enough to start heating his blood. It kind of ruins the illusion he’s nurtured about his exceptional control over himself.

At eighteen, a crush had been pretty much inevitable. Now? Now her allure feels dangerous. Which of course makes it more potent—he’s just a man, after all, and she’s ticked boxes he didn’t even know he had. The urge to catch her unaware, to coax information out of her as he presses her against a wall and explores the soft curve of her neck with his lips…it’s a fantasy he’s had pretty much constantly since they’ve been reintroduced as colleagues. Would her breath catch when he nibbled his way along her jaw? Would her fingers tangle in his hair or clothes to keep him close as her hips moved restlessly against his? He can imagine the breathless way she’d tell him about her Crest, maybe even about Jeralt’s history with Rhea, anything as long as he doesn’t stop…

He groans, glad he’s in the privacy of his own quarters before his imagination runs away with him. It’s a little embarrassing, how quickly thoughts of her spiral into something along these lines, and how quickly those thoughts leave his body feeling hot and hard and unsatisfied. But he doesn’t think he’s the only one that feels some sort of tug between them, or else she wouldn’t have been so quick to resume their friendly rivalry.

He just has to be careful not to become too wrapped up in her. There’s work to be done, and he knows better than to play before getting it finished. He can keep himself focused on the bigger picture here.

He _thinks_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on out, the chapters will probably be split between POVs...as in Byleth one chapter, Claude the next, ect. Unless they end up being super short??? I guess we'll see, but that's the plan.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Shouldn’t you be sitting with your class?” She glances around at her Lions, trying to silently warn them that they should leave the talking to her. She isn’t sure if they get the message; they haven’t worked together for long, after all.
> 
> “That does seem to be the mode around here, but you know I’ve always enjoyed breaking down arbitrary boundaries.” He winks at her. “Besides, how else am I going to scope out the competition?”
> 
> “From afar. At least that was my hope,” she replies drily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a bit longer! It's a longer chapter, so hopefully that makes up for it a bit. This one was pretty fun, I hope you enjoy it too!

The dining hall is already full when Byleth walks in, her mind whirling through strategies and how best to deploy the students on the field. Her Lions are already here, gathered around one of the tables. Their breakfasts are mostly forgotten—like her, they’re distracted by the upcoming battle. Even Felix’s amber eyes are gleaming at the prospect of a good fight.

Manuela and the Black Eagles seem competent enough, but Byleth thinks that her Lion’s discipline and familiarity with one another would give them the advantage. Their house leader, Edelgard, seems hungry for victory—but that’s as much of a liability as it is an asset on the battlefield. And she gets the feeling that Edelgard will be willing to take risks the rest of the Eagles will flinch at, one more thing to keep in mind.

It’s Claude that she’s worried about. Despite all his efforts as a teenager to come off as a lackadaisical student, he’d far surpassed the rest of them when it came to tactical thinking. She knows she’ll have to maneuver her students carefully when facing the Golden Deer, not because they’re especially unified, but because Claude will be able to turn even their disarray into an effective tactic against his enemies. Traps, feints, taunts…there’s no trick he wouldn’t try at least once, if she remembers right. That makes him a more daunting opponent than Manuela.

She takes her tray over to the table the Blue Lions have claimed and sits down, nodding as they all wish her a good morning.

“Professor, I’m glad you’re here. I was hoping you’d join me on a stroll through the grounds after breakfast, so that we might discuss our battle plan—“”

Felix cuts Dimitri off. “The _battle plan_ is to defeat our opponents.”

“Felix, you know how important strategy is. We can’t simply rush the field and expect victory,” Dimitri chides.

“Yet somehow, that always ends up being your play, Boar,” Felix snaps. “You and I? We’re weapons, nothing more. Thinking should be left to those with an affinity for it.”

Sylvain laughs, though there’s an edge to it. The way his friend speaks to Dimitri obviously makes him, not to mention the rest of the Lions, uncomfortable. “C’mon, Felix, don’t start with that boar crap first thing in the morning. I’m sure Prince Dimitri and our lovely professor will come up with something great.”

Ingrid pokes at her eggs with a fork. “_Try_ to remember that you’re friends,” she mutters to Felix. “Or at least that he’s our prince.”

“As if anyone will let me forget,” Felix replies. He stands and gathers his empty dishes. His eyes meet Byleth’s. “I’ll do whatever you say out there. All I ask is that you don’t waste my skill.”

Then he’s gone, and some of the tension at the table eases.

Before Byleth can think of a way to broach the subject gracefully, another tray hits the table. She looks up, already knowing what she’s going to see, and yes: it’s Claude, and he’s grinning his most cheerful, beguiling grin.

“Trouble in paradise, Teach?” he asks lightly as he takes a seat.

“Shouldn’t you be sitting with your class?” She glances around at her Lions, trying to silently warn them that they should leave the talking to her. She isn’t sure if they get the message; they haven’t worked together for long, after all.

“That does seem to be the mode around here, but you know I’ve always enjoyed breaking down arbitrary boundaries.” He winks at her. “Besides, how else am I going to scope out the competition?”

“From afar. At least that was my hope,” she replies drily. Claude lets out a laugh, but his eyes are studying her more closely now.

“I forgot how quick you are with a comeback,” he says, looking pleased—like she’s somehow exceeded his expectations. It throws her off for a second, before she recalls who she’s dealing with.

“Well,” he says after a moment, leaning back and casting his eyes over the rest of the group, “I really just came over to wish you luck, and to ask Teach here to take it easy on my students. Hilda especially seems to be a delicate flower.”

“She wields an axe that looks like it weighs as much as she does,” Dimitri points out. “Perhaps we would be better off watching out for her_._”

“Wow, really?” Ashe looks impressed. “She must be incredibly strong…”

Mercedes hums her agreement, and Annette frowns down at her own arms doubtfully.

“Ah, you saw that, did you? Well, rest assured, she wants no part of the battle. And I think we’re all a little wary of fighting such an experienced mercenary.”

“They may not know what you’re doing, Claude—but I do.” Byleth’s tone is even but she’s frowning a little. “I’m not going to underestimate your students just because you tell me to.”

The Lions are all watching this like they would a sparring match on the training yard, eyes flying back and forth between the professors.

“You always could see right through me,” Claude says with a dangerous smile. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. See you at the faculty strategy meeting, Teach.”

He gathers his breakfast and heads over to join his Golden Deer. The Lions are silent for a few moments, but then Mercedes says, “Wow, Professor, do you really think he was trying to make us underestimate his class?”

Byleth opens her mouth, then closes it again. “He’s just trying to distract us. We need to stay focused, that’s all,” she says at last, but she finds she can’t follow her own advice. Something is tugging at her subconscious, something about Claude and his almost aggressively casual behavior.

_What’s he doing here? _she wonders. _And why is he so on edge?_

* * *

Manuela catches her near the dormitories. She hurries over with a huge smile on her lips, and Byleth finds her arm being grasped and tucked tight around the other woman’s.

“Seteth’s called the faculty strategy meeting. I was just looking for you. Now we can go together!” she sang. Then she cast a deceptively shy gaze Byleth’s way. “You know, I can’t say for sure, but…a pretty young thing like you, there’s no way you could be single, right?”

“I…have no romantic attachments,” Byleth replies, shifting uncomfortably and very aware that her arm is trapped. Perhaps Manuela is more cagey than she looks, perhaps she’s trying to throw Byleth off before the battle starts—or perhaps she’s just lonely. Sometimes Byleth forgets that emotional motivations exist, and not purely practical or manipulative ones.

“Oh?” Manuela asks with a smile. “Same as me then! We should start a lonely hearts club.”

Nothing in Fódlan sounds _worse_ than starting a lonely hearts club. Byleth manages a weak smile. “Maybe. I’ve never taught before, so I don’t know if I’ll have much free time.”

“You’ll pick it up soon enough.” Manuela waves her free hand dismissively. “But I suppose I shouldn’t distract you so early in the school year. Seteth would be very upset with me.”

Seteth seems like the kind of person that’s permanently upset about one thing or another, but she keeps that thought to herself. She allows Manuela to draw her up the stairs and down the hallway to the cardinal’s room, where Lady Rhea, Seteth, Jeralt and Claude are already waiting.

“Ah, there you are.” Rhea smiles as the two women head to their seats. “Thank you for joining us.”

“Hey kid,” Jeralt murmurs as she settles into the chair next to his. “Doing okay?”

Byleth gives a small nod, following his gaze to Rhea. He looks uneasy. His discomfort is unusual enough to be contagious; a chill steals over her as she looks at the archbishop. If Rhea is aware of their suspicions, she doesn’t show it. Her expression is composed and serene as she observes her small teaching staff.

“Captain Jeralt will be overseeing and judging the mock battle. He assures me that he’ll show no undue favoritism,” Rhea says, smiling fondly at Byleth. “The objective is simple: whichever class can defeat the other two will be declared the victor. Each professor will take the field with their students, but please remember: while you may participate in the battle, it is highly recommended that the students handle most of the combat. The purpose of this exercise is, after all, for you to observe your charges and assess how best to guide them in the year to come.”

“The rules are simple,” Seteth continues. “Only training weapons are allowed. Any magical attacks must be aimed at the ground, and their use is strictly limited. Should any grievous injuries occur, Seiros monks will be standing by to provide instant medical care. While you assess the students, we shall be assessing you in return.”

“Do we get a report card at the end?” Claude asks cheerfully. He’s kicked his long legs up into one of the empty chairs at the table and his lips are curled into an easy smile. If he wants to get a rise out of Seteth, he’s chosen his strategy well: the casual disrespect is already causing the other man’s brows to lower.

But why bother to get a rise out of Seteth? Byleth doesn’t see them point in it, unless it’s purely for Claude’s own amusement.

As if he knows he’s in her thoughts, Claude glances her way and smirks. “I kinda thought we were past the whole grading thing, didn’t you Teach? Seeing as we graduated four years ago and all.”

“Kindly sit up,” Seteth says in the measured tones of a man straining to keep his temper, “and remember that this chamber is for the use of the highest church officials in the land and not for your personal comfort, Professor von Riegan.”

Claude’s eyes catch Byleth’s again, and he arches an eyebrow as if to say, _Got to him already. That was easy._

_Careful_, she tells herself. Making people feel like they’re in on the joke is one of the many ways Claude weaponizes his charm. She’s determined not to be as easy a mark for him as Seteth is.

“I apologize,” he says out loud, so contritely that Byleth almost snorts. “To make up for it, how about we share a toast to a successful school year?” He reaches under the table and pulls out a bottle of wine he had to have pinched from the storehouse, grinning at the Seteth’s rising outrage. The cork has already been removed, and he pulls a goblet from his pocket and pours the wine into it before passing it to Manuela.

“Well, I don’t mind if I do,” she says, reaching for it. Quick as a flash, Byleth stands, grabs the goblet, and pushes it back toward Claude.

“You first,” she insists. He looks up at her, completely guileless—almost hurt—and then his innocent expression crumbles into one of amusement. He ignores the goblet and folds his hands behind his head.

“You got me, Teach. A swig of that would have sent you right to the latrines,” he admits. Seteth begins sputtering about cheating, but Byleth sees her father lift a hand to cover a smile. Manuela looks as though she’s been slapped, but Rhea doesn’t seem particularly phased.

“Now, now,” she says mildly. “I want this to be a friendly competition, no sabotage.”

Claude bows to them all from his chair and winks at Byleth. “No more funny business,” he agrees. “You have my word.”

The meeting wraps up quickly after that. As the faculty members leave the table and start shuffling out of the room, Claude makes sure to catch Byleth’s eye one last time before he lifts the abandoned goblet to his lips and drains it.

So…it hadn’t been tampered with after all. He probably just wanted the wine to himself the whole time.

* * *

The sun is bright and high overhead as Byleth and the Lions make their way to the training field at the base of the monastery. Not much has changed about the place since the last time Byleth was here, though the trees are a little older and a little more battered.

Somewhere off to their left, the Golden Deer are forming up. To her right, the Black Eagles will probably be getting into formation as well. Which way to go first?

As she ponders the question, Dimitri and Dedue join her.

“Who have you chosen for the exercise, Professor?” Dimitri asks.

“Both of you, Ashe and Felix,” she replies, still lost in thought.

“Annette expressed a desire to join us.”

Byleth looks at the prince and shakes her head. “No. I need Felix. The combination of you three will convince Claude that we’re planning a frontal assault on an enemy position. He’ll only wait to see if we’re after him or the Black Eagles before he makes his move.”

Dedue considers this. “And in the meantime?”

“We need to draw him out. I have no doubt that he’ll have laid some sort of trap or ambush for us, so our goal will be to trick him into the open field. We’ll start toward the Eagles. He’ll come to attack our flank while he thinks we’re distracted with them, and that’s when Ashe and I will open fire from the trees.”

“Won’t he know something is amiss if you’re not with us?” Dimitri asks.

Byleth nods. “Probably. That’s why I’m hoping Felix’s charge toward the Eagles will be tempting enough to lure him out anyway. He may even think that Felix is disobeying orders, and you and Dedue are attempting to mitigate the damage.”

“It’s cunning. I don’t usually like to fight that way, but I can see the merits of your plan, Professor,” Dimitri says. Dedue nods.

“It is worth an attempt. I will prepare. Should we explain the plan to our comrades?”

“I’ll do it,” Byleth says. Dimitri catches her arm, gently stopping her before she strides off toward the others.

“You’re sure you don’t want to bring Mercedes? We may need a healer, especially if we end up taking on both houses at once.”

Byleth shakes her head. “I need another archer more than I need a healer. We’ll each have a small stock of vulneries, and while I’m decent with a bow, I’m no crack shot. Claude is a much better marksman than I am, so I’d rather have Ashe’s support.”

“Permit me to say…I don’t think Claude is better at anything than you are, Professor,” Dimitri murmurs softly, low enough that even Dedue can’t possibly overhear. Suddenly, Byleth’s cheeks feel warm.

_This could be bad, _she thinks.

Gently, she pulls free of his grasp. She gives him a small smile but says firmly, “It isn’t wise to underestimate him. Nor is it wise to _over_-estimate me.”

“Of course, you’re right. Forgive me,” he replies, his own cheeks reddening. She hopes he caught her true meaning, but only time will tell for sure.

* * *

Byleth is pleasantly surprised as she and Ashe move through a thicket of trees. A couple of days in the training yard had shown her he’s good with a bow, but she hadn’t known he could move so quietly through underbrush until now. She thinks of the certifications for sniper or assassin classes: he’s got the potential, if she can nurture it.

Out on the open field, Dimitri, Dedue and Felix are making their way toward the Black Eagles. All is quiet so far, though they can see the Eagles now. They seem content to wait, and Byleth wonders briefly if Claude has made some arrangement with Manuela, a pact to take her out first before turning on one another. Perhaps she should have tried something similar. She isn’t used to making allies, another weakness she’ll have to keep in mind so she doesn’t pass it on to her students.

Felix is moving confidently forward. Dimitri is slightly more cautious, but he’s picking up speed as well now that an enemy has been spotted. They’re too eager, but she’d planned on that.

Dedue is the most cautious, though he keeps pace with Dimitri. His eyes keep scanning the trees on the opposite side of the field, where the Golden Deer must have positioned themselves. There’s nothing to betray the presence of any combatants in the other copse of trees.

_What’s your plan? _Byleth wonders, picturing Claude’s face. She wishes she were better at thinking outside of the box.

A moment later, she finds out. Manuela has been holding Edelgard and the others in check. Even at a distance, Byleth can see that the princess is just as eager for a fight as Felix and Dimitri, but she waits obediently. Bernadetta, Hubert and Ferdinand are with her, watching the Lions approach.

As her students get closer, some of the Deer burst out of the tree line on the other side of the field. Raphael and Hilda, strong melee fighters, leap out at Dimitri and Dedue…but no arrows come. When she squints, she can see Marianne still in the trees, but she doesn’t appear to be readying any black magic spells, she only waits in case the others need fast-and-dirty first aid.

“Ashe,” she murmurs, “get into range and give them some support, but stay in the trees and keep moving.”

“And you, Professor?”

“I won’t be far. Go now, they need your help.”

Ashe slips away, moving toward his classmates. Byleth stays deeper in the trees, waiting. Searching. He isn’t behind Marianne, and no arrows come to harass her Lions. Perhaps he’s further ahead, circling around the Eagles for a surprise attack…

A foot hooks around her ankles, and suddenly she’s on the ground. She lets go of her bow even as she falls, her fingers flying to the hilt of her dagger. The air leaves her lungs in a _whoosh_ as she connects with the forest floor, but she’s ready to slash at her opponent when he inevitably presses his advantage. Only he doesn’t come. After a moment she rolls to her feet.

“Not very sporting of you to unsheathe live steel during a mock battle, Teach,” Claude says, his voice pitched low. She turns to him, teeth clenched, and slides the dagger back in its sheath.

“You expect me to yield now?” she asks. “Just like that?”

“Gods, no,” he laughs. He’s only a few feet away, fingering the string of his training bow idly as he watches her. “I never expected you would. I just wanted to see the surprise on your face when I tripped you.”

“You’ve gotten better. At stealth,” she quickly clarifies, before his ego inflates too much. She reaches for her bow—one of his padded arrows, drawn and loosed in a blink, strikes her in the wrist.

“Down a hand now, Teach,” he teases. She has to fight off the urge to rush him. He wants that, or he wouldn’t be taunting her.

This time she gets the bow in her hands, rolling away from his next shot. By the time she’s upright once more, _he’s_ rushing _her._ She’d already been drawing an arrow of her own, but he’s too quick and she’s forced to drop it as she scrambles to retreat. Her back hits a tree trunk and he shoves his bow across her chest, pining her.

“Teach,” he chides, “that was too easy. What’s got you so off your game, hm?”

She tries to force herself not to notice how good he smells. It’s a stupid thing to think about under these circumstances, and she won’t indulge.

He leans in, studying her far too closely. She can feel each of his breaths on her face. A smart move would be to avoid his eyes, but she’s too proud for her own good so she holds his gaze. He smirks a little, like she’s just made a dare he shouldn’t accept but is tempted to anyway.

“I _am_ susceptible to flattery, you know,” he murmurs, his voice quietly persuasive and oh, so tempting. “If you admit that it’s _me _that you find so distracting, I might even let you go.”

She doesn’t want to squirm against the tree trunk, but she does. His hands flex around the bow he’s still using to keep her trapped.

“Am I the distracted one?” she asks instead.

His pupils blow wide, just a little, and his eyes darken. The sight sends a shiver through her.

“No,” he admits, his voice gravel. “Not the only distracted one, in any case.”

She opens her mouth, unsure of what she means to say, and then Dimitri appears out of nowhere and strikes Claude like a lightning bolt, his training lance smashing into the other man’s back with perhaps a touch more force than necessary.

“Yield,” he commands, sounding every bit like the prince he is, and Claude drops his bow and lifts up his empty hands. He’s smirking but it’s more a tightening of his mouth than anything, and his eyes stay on Byleth’s face, still dark and intent.

“I yield, Your Highness,” he says. Dimitri looks over his shoulder, peering into Byleth’s face. There’s a question in those eyes that makes her blush slightly and glance away. Claude looks as though he’s the victorious one even as Dimitri says, “Professor, the day is ours.”

The walk back to the rest of the students is an awkward one.

* * *

“You all were exceptional,” Byleth tells her students, painfully aware that she had missed the decisive parts of the battle while she’d been...detained by Claude. “You should be proud of yourselves.”

Felix crosses his arms over his chest and stares at her hard from his seat in their classroom. “We managed alright without you.”

Byleth feels her cheeks grow warm. “You did,” she agrees, trying to ignore her embarrassment. “You did better than that. I know you probably want to celebrate and I won’t hold you back, but remember: we do have classes tomorrow. Don’t go overboard.”

“Ah, don’t be like that, Professor. It wouldn’t be much of a celebration without you. Hang out for a bit, bask in our adoration,” he says, grinning up at her. She smiles but shakes her head.

“You’ll have way more fun without me and I’ve still got a lesson plan to work out. Maybe next time, if the offer still stands,” she tells them. Then she heads to the infirmary.

She isn’t hurt badly, but her wrist _is _throbbing. Her own white magic is usually decent, but her thoughts are so scattered that her attempts at the simple spell were rendered useless. Manuela will fix her up in no time flat.

She knocks and there’s a small bustle before the door swings open.

“Oh my, Professor. Are you alright? Were you hurt during the mock battle?”

“Just my wrist,” Byleth replies, gesturing to it. It’s swollen and sore to the touch. She might have ignored it under normal circumstances, but she’s having trouble writing due to the constant throbbing. And she has a lot of writing to do.

Manuela hums to herself as she gets to work on Byleth’s wrist. She has a lovely voice even when she’s not trying hard, and for a moment Byleth wonders what she must have been like on the stage.

“Professor,” Manuela says. “Forgive me for being…forward. But I’d kick myself if I didn’t ask. Is there some sort of history with you and Claude? I only bring it up because he was in here asking questions about you, and about Hanneman’s research into your Crest all those years ago.”

Byleth feels her muscles tense. “He what?”

Manuela gives a helpless little shrug. “He was curious to know if Hanneman ever figured out what your Crest was. He wanted to ask more than that, but I reminded him that the privacy of my patients is of the utmost importance to me.”

“I…see. Thank you, Professor Manuela,” she says.

“Of course! And I’m all done here. Your wrist should be good as new. Better even!”

Byleth flexes her wrist and gives Manuela a smile. “Thank you,” she says again, “it feels perfect.”

“Any time,” the other replies, waving as Byleth sees herself out. Once she’s in the hallway and the door is closed behind her, she leans briefly against the wall.

So…Claude is asking questions about her Crest, is he? She has no idea what he hopes to find out, but now she knows for sure that teaching isn’t just an amusing sabbatical while he waits to take over the Alliance. He’s after secrets, and she doubts hers are the only ones he hopes to uncover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: there isn't really going to be a love-triangle between Dimitri, Claude and Byleth. I just get the impression that Dimitri would take his admiration a touch too far...and of course it's fun to stick Byleth in awkward situations.
> 
> See you next time! <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Ah, you know better than that by now, Teach. I was just trying to keep you unsettled. Especially whenever anything competitive came up.” He winks and spreads his arms wide. “I wanted to keep you *just* rattled enough to gain the upper hand.”
> 
> “Oh?” She lifts her eyebrows. “So you *don’t* find yourself roguishly handsome?”
> 
> He laughs. “I wouldn’t go that far,” he admits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The epilogue to "Catalyst" is coming up next. I wanted to post that first but it isn't done yet. I've had to start over twice already! But I think I'm getting close now. In the meantime, here's a chapter from Claude's POV!

The school year starts in earnest. Claude finds himself busier than he’d anticipated, but he also likes teaching more than he’d expected to. The Golden Deer are a rowdy mix of kids, but he finds that they naturally push one another in ways he might not have been able to on his own. Lysithea challenges Ignatz, Leonie is patient with Raphael, Hilda forces Marianne out of her shell. Even Lorenz has his moments. Claude might not have a pack of well-bred nobles following his every command, but he thinks his Deer will surprise people if given half the chance.

That’s if he doesn’t strangle Hilda and Lorenz first. Both of them are upset with him for the same reason—House leadership—and neither will leave him alone about it for longer than a day or two.

The problem is two-fold: Lorenz had expected the position and felt usurped, and Hilda was determined not to be placed in any position requiring authority or responsibility.

Lorenz’s expectations aren’t out of line. Considering his family’s position in the Alliance, and the fact that Holst would lead House Goneril before Hilda would, it had been only natural for him to assume that he would be first in the class. Hilda, meanwhile, made no secret of the fact that she felt utterly unprepared to take charge of any group under any circumstances.

Claude’s idea to shake them both up a bit is…well, it isn’t _un_successful_. _It’s just that they’re both so adamant that their roles be switched, it’s enough to make him want to stick them both in some sort of time-out. What he’s hoping is that somewhere along the line, Lorenz will learn to _listen_. Working effectively with others is an essential quality of leadership that Claude just doesn’t think he has yet, and it’s because he’s far too enamored with his own importance.

And Hilda? Hilda knows how to get what she wants from people. She knows how to organize tasks and plan events, and she’s a good fighter when push comes to shove. She just doesn’t like the pressure of being in charge. A stint as the House leader might cure her of that aversion to power, if she’ll stop complaining long enough to play to her strengths.

He’s determined not to change his mind about their roles in the class, but they’re giving him hell for it.

Otherwise, things are running about as smoothly as can be expected as their third full week of classes winds down. Claude has to admit he’s pretty proud of himself and his students, especially considering he’d only taken the job as a cover. He hums to himself softly as he heads to the library, passing the faculty offices without much thought.

That’s when Jeralt appears and seizes his arm. He steers Claude not toward his office or the library, but down the corridor that leads to the cardinal’s conference room. There doesn’t seem to be any point in resisting the Captain…Jeralt Eisner is huge, yet even his body seems too small to house his massive strength. Blade Breaker is an apt nickname. Neck Breaker or Spine Breaker might have worked just as well.

The knight closes the door to the cardinal’s room, then pulls Claude to the back corner, as far from the hallway—and any potential eavesdroppers—as they can get.

“You’ve been asking questions about Byleth,” Jeralt says once he’s successfully cornered Claude.

“Uh—” Claude is swiftly calculating his options. How much truth can he conceal without insulting the other’s intelligence? Unfortunately for him, when Jeralt so chooses, he has a poker face that’s just as impossible to read as his daughter’s. There’s no way to know how much the man has already ascertained. He’ll have to play along, at least at first.

“Yes,” he says after a moment’s silence. “It’s just, I remembered what a fuss Hanneman made over it when we were students. I was curious to know if anyone ever found out more.”

Jeralt’s smile is cool and utterly unimpressed. “And here I was under the impression that you’re a good liar. Try again.”

Claude lifts his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “It just seems odd, that’s all. Her Crest stumped the _Father of Crestology._ That’s can’t be normal. He literally wrote the book on the subject. I know because I read it. It made me wonder if finding out more about it was one of the reasons she chose to come back to Garreg Mach.”

“Your interest seems more…personal than that,” Jeralt says slowly.

_Ah. So he’s a worried father, not a defender of the faith. _That’s a relief. Jeralt is not an enemy Claude wants to make.

“That’s nothing,” he tells the older man. “It’s just our old banter coming back to life. From when we were students together. Trust me, I know better than to make a pass—I think the phrase _she’d have my guts for garters_ captures the situation especially eloquently.”

“I don’t care _what _it is, knock it off,” Jeralt growls. “If I find out that you’re upsetting her, I’ll personally make sure that the problem _stops_, do you understand me? Coming back here has been hard enough for her. She doesn’t need anyone to make her feel more uncomfortable.”

“Wait—what do you mean?” Claude asks, unable to stop the question before it tumbles from his lips. He’s on thin ice (he can tell by the way Jeralt is glaring daggers at him), but he never could stifle his curiosity once roused.

_“I mean_ that she’s not exactly thrilled about teaching a bunch of noble brats about battalion formations. I’m not sure why she’s doing it, but since she’s made her choice, I will do everything I can to make her life a little easier. That includes dissuading any…unwanted admirers.”

Claude wants to laugh, but his mind is filling with questions so fast that he’s too distracted. It’s probably for the best: laughing might upset Jeralt further, and those fists are huge. He doesn’t want them flying at his face now, or ever if he can help it.

Besides, something else is bugging him too. He studies Jeralt’s face carefully, looking for cracks in his façade. “You didn’t drag me back here and make sure no one could hear us just to warn me away from your daughter. There _is_ something unique about her Crest, isn’t there?”

“Son, these aren’t questions you should be asking. Especially not here.” Jeralt’s face is stone. “Besides, I don’t have the answers. Neither does she. And the one person who _might_ have all of that information certainly isn’t going to share it with you, so forget it.”

_Fat chance, _Claude thinks. Out loud he asks, “Is it connected to whatever else the church is hiding about the Crest stones? And the relics?”

Jeralt only shakes his head. “The next time you ask that question, you’d better have an army at your back. Anything less, and the church will crush you. I’m warning you, son: leave it alone. No good can come of stirring this hornet’s nest, and I don’t want my daughter caught up in any heresy.”

The fact that Jeralt is afraid—and Claude can see in his eyes that he is, in fact, quite afraid—sends a chill down his spine. But it also firms his resolve. The church all but rules Fódlan, emperors and kings be damned, and if the core of that rule is rotten, something must be done.

“Alright,” he concedes, just to end this conversation so he can find somewhere private to think. “Point taken. I’ll even lay off Teach a little, if it’ll help. Friendly competition or no, I actually don’t want to upset her.”

“See that you do,” Jeralt replies as he strides toward the door. He disappears without another word, leaving Claude to wonder just what the hell has caused a man as battle-tested and brave as Jeralt to jump at shadows.

He’s at a crossroads, he knows: he could play this safe and teach his fawns, all while recapturing his friendly rivalry with Byleth. It would be easy, even fun, to spend a year that way. But he already knows he can’t. Not if there really is some falsehood at the heart of it all, some lie granting Rhea power over all three of Fódlan’s domains.

Then, out of nowhere, he laughs. _Dissuading unwanted admirers, was he? Guess I’m not the only one with trouble focusing._

* * *

Sunday rolls around again. Claude teaches a seminar in the morning which gets decent attendance, but after lunch, the Academy grounds are all but deserted. A quick glance into the other two classrooms yields only Linhardt, dozing away in his usual seat with an open book as a pillow.

“Where is everyone?” he asks the younger man. “Did they plan some massive group trip into town?”

“Hmm? Oh…no…that’s not it,” Linhardt replies with a yawn, already slipping back into unconsciousness. “Professor Eisner is sparring with people.”

And _everyone_ has gone to watch her? He isn’t sure he believes it, but when he pushes open the heavy doors to the training grounds, he has to admit defeat. Most of the students are, in fact, jammed around the edges of the yard and watching Byleth disassemble Catherine with cool, calculated ease.

Claude likes Catherine. He respects her experience and is equally impressed by her Relic. But as he watches her and Byleth clash with tourney blades, he has to admit that Catherine has come to rely too heavily on Thunderbrand’s power. Without the Relic, her own strength is merely mortal, and Byleth clearly has the superior stamina.

_Interesting, _he thinks as he watches them. _Catherine’s grown used to ending conflicts fast. That’s not going to help her against Teach._

Byleth lets out a little cry of effort as she rushes the knight. Catherine plants her feet to meet the charge head-on, but with a pretty bit of footwork that he thinks makes Felix actually moan, Byleth side-steps and swings hard for Catherine’s side. The knight deflects the blow, but the awkward block puts her even more off-balance. Byleth plows into her and follows her to the ground, dropping her sword to press a dagger to Catherine’s throat.

The students burst into applause. Byleth climbs off of Catherine and offers her a hand, but the knight ignores it and rolls to her feet. She’s laughing, but there’s a flash of something less than sportsmanship-like in her eyes.

“Me next, Professor,” Felix insists. His eyes are glowing with the promise of a good fight.

“As you wish,” Byleth replies, hardly even winded from her last bout.

As they take up positions facing each other across the yard, Hilda approaches Claude. He braces himself for her inevitable request to be excused as House leader, but instead she says, “She’s really graceful, isn’t she? It’s like a dance, not a fight. It’s kinda…beautiful. In a scary way.”

And she’s right: the skill of both fighters _does _make it appear as though they’re dancing rather than sparring. It’s very fast but captivating, and even Claude forgets to mask his interest as the pair spin, strike and parry. Gods, Byleth is beautiful. The determination in her face and the fire in her eyes both rouse his interest—among other things. The sheer power of her, almost unbelievable given her stature, has his body responding without his permission. He has to think of antitoxin recipes to cool himself down. Meanwhile, she and Felix fight on.

It can’t last forever, and it doesn’t. Byleth uses her opponent’s impatience against him, goading him into a charge by staying just out of reach and lazily flicking his sword away. Once he goes for the bull rush, Byleth has him. Her sword flashes and twists, and Felix finds himself on the ground looking dazed.

“I yield,” he spits, but his eyes are still gleaming. “I _will _surpass you, Professor.”

“Good,” Byleth replies, unperturbed. “On that day, I’ll know I’ve done my job properly.”

He accepts her hand and clamors back to his feet with her help. Then he bows to her and joins his peers. Claude is tempted to challenge her himself, but he knows it’s not a good idea in the state he’s in. Not only would she beat him handily due to his distraction, but she’d leave him in an embarrassingly compromised state, one that his current trousers weren’t baggy enough to hide.

“I claim first fight next week,” he calls to her. When she glances his way, surprised to see him amongst the crowd, he grins at her and winks. “Let’s give these kids a real show, whaddaya say Teach?”

She hesitates, then nods. He can feel her eyes tracing over him, assessing him as an opponent, and he nearly shivers.

Maybe he shouldn’t have challenged her, he thinks as she turns away. He’s definitely going to have to do much better at focusing than he has today. And he’s absolutely going to need to practice, or their ‘real show’ won’t last very long.

Still…he’s rather looking forward to it.

* * *

He’s feeling less confident as the week flies by. His upcoming spar with Byleth is all the students want to talk about. Even Leonie, someone he can usually count on to be level-headed, is buzzing with excitement. She keeps talking about Captain Jeralt like Claude is facing him instead, and she randomly pulls him aside during the week to remind him that the Blade Breaker’s tactics are legendary, maybe unbeatable.

And she’s not alone. No one seems to think he’s going to to win. He’d be offended if he didn’t feel the same way, but he’ll at least go down fighting. If he can keep some space between them, he might even get a lucky shot or two in with his bow.

On Friday night, mostly to get his mind off of the upcoming match, he decides to head into the town. It’s not an exciting place, but the monastery can feel claustrophobic if he doesn’t escape it once in a while. As a student, he’d snuck in and out without paying much heed to curfew. As an adult, he can simply walk through the gates and down the trail that passes between the two.

It’s a pleasant evening. As he enters the town, a couple of pretty girls smile at him and he grins back. His grandfather keeps writing him about marriage and heirs, but a little flirting is enough for now. The rest, he’s sure, will come in time. Meanwhile, the sunset is beautiful and he can smell something delicious wafting toward him from down the street.

He walks that way, taking his time. The smell leads him to a little pot-shop, where sliced pheasant is cooking over hot coals. A dark sauce—wine with a pleasant mix of spices—is simmering gently in a pot over a fire, waiting to go on top of the bird when it’s done cooking. Vegetables are being sautéed with garlic and butter. He buys a portion of both and eats with his fingers, just as he would have in Almyra. He uses his right hand and eats with care to avoid the unpardonable bad manners of having a food-smeared palm or dripping sauce onto his clothing.

Next, it’s time to find a drink.

Claude has never shied from drinking. He can hold his own in a contest, and he has enough self-awareness to keep from reaching the point of no return. But he usually doesn’t bother with it; he’s a man with secrets, after all, ones he can’t afford to let slip in a drunken haze. Still, a beer or two can’t hurt, if he can find something decent. His memories of the town’s tavern are shady, but there might be other options.

His explorations lead him to a wine shop. It isn’t the beer he’d wanted, but something else draws him inside.

_Byleth_.

She’s at the counter, swirling a glass of red while Manuela expounds on her opera days. Claude walks in and heads toward the counter like he’s being reeled in on fishing line. He certainly doesn’t feel like he’s in control of his feet.

“Hello, my esteemed colleagues,” he says as he nears them. “I didn’t expect to find myself in your lovely company tonight.”

Manuela turns and titters at him, already a bit fuzzy from a steady intake of wine. Byleth murmurs a polite greeting, but before he can tease her for being so formal, Manuela drapes herself over his arm and leans into his chest.

“You’ve _grown_,” she says, all admiration. “I always knew you were going to be drop dead gorgeous. And those _eyes_. How’s any girl supposed to resist?”

“Ah, c’mon,” he replies, hoping he sounds humble as he tries to extricate his arm without her notice. “You’ll make a guy blush.”

“You really shouldn’t encourage him with compliments, Manuela. Claude is very aware of his appeal,” Byleth says drily before taking a sip of her wine. He glances at her in not-entirely-feigned surprise.

“Now what would make you say something like that?” he asks with a wolfish grin. “Not that it isn’t true, by the by.”

“_Piqued your interest, have I?”_ Byleth quotes at him. He instantly recognizes his own words from their academy days and winces. “That was the second or third thing you ever said to me. And you were convinced that I got angry at you so often because I was secretly attracted to you.”

“Ah, you know better than that by now, Teach. I was just trying to keep you unsettled. Especially whenever anything competitive came up.” He winks and spreads his arms wide. “I wanted to keep you _just_ rattled enough to gain the upper hand.”

“Oh?” She lifts her eyebrows. “So you _don’t _find yourself roguishly handsome?”

He laughs. “I wouldn’t go that far,” he admits. What is with the light in this place? It’s almost golden, and it makes her skin look so soft. There’s s satin-like quality to her that is sinfully inviting, and he hasn’t even had a drink yet.

“Roguishly handsome…yes, that’s it. That’s exactly what he is,” Manuela purrs, reaching up with an unsteady hand to touch his hair. “You’ll stay and have a drink with us, won’t you? We’ve been so _lonely_.”

He glances back and forth between Manuela’s exaggerated pout and Byleth’s impenetrable poker face. It’s the glimmer of amusement in Byleth’s eyes that decides the issue. He orders a glass of wine and replenished their emptying cups as well. Blessedly, Manuela releases his arm and wanders toward the center of the room with her refreshed wine. She’s singing as she goes, and Byleth shakes her head as their colleague graces the patrons of the shop with an impromptu performance.

“I didn’t expect to find you out with Manuela,” he says conversationally as they sip their wine.

Byleth eyes tighten in a wince. “She really _is_ lonely.”

“I imagine life at Garreg Mach is quite a bit different than life on the stage,” he agrees. “And you? How do you like teaching, Teach?”

She rolls her eyes at his little grin but then considers the question. “It’s surprisingly…fulfilling.”

“Wanna strangle any of your kids yet?”

“Not…not always.” She shocks him by laughing, and it takes him a moment to realize that he’s got a rather dopey smile on his face in response. “Only when Felix starts in on Prince Dimitri.”

“I’ll trade you those two for Lorenz and Hilda,” he offers. “At least I know I could distract Felix with shiny swords.”

“No deal,” Byleth replies with a shake of her head. “I’d never be able to get Hilda to do any work. Seteth would fire me in an instant.”

“Oh, I dunno, Teach. I think you’re growing on him.”

Before she can reply, Manuela returns. She all but crashes into Claude’s back and one of her arms clamps down around his torso from behind.

“Claaa_uuudddeeee_,” she sings. “Dance with me!”

“Uh.” Claude glances around the room. “I’d love to, but…this really isn’t the right venue.”

“Oh, they’ll all want to get up and join us once we start. _Please?_”

Claude bites back a groan. The other patrons are staring at them already. Well, he supposes it won’t kill him to spin her around in the middle of the room once or twice. It’s not like the situation could get any _more_ embarrassing, and it’s less likely to cause a scene than Manuela bursting into tears.

“Alright,” he says. Byleth is smirking at him just a little as he gets to his feet. He sticks his tongue out at her and her smirk widens. He straightens his shoulders, trying to look cool and confident and not like he’s humoring a drunk ex-songstress. Then he bows to Manuela with deeply exaggerated gallantry and offers his hand. She accepts and follows him to the center of the shop, tripping a little as she does.

With his chin high, he sweeps her into a dance.

It’s a mess, if he’s honest. He’s never been great at Fódlan’s formal dances, but he can usually hold his own. Manuela, however, is giggling so much that she instantly starts to get dizzy, and her feet land on top of his far more often than they touch the floor. Still, he’s determined to see this through with dignity.

It’s just as he’s twirling Manuela into a tipsy finish that he sees that Byleth is no longer alone at the counter. The man that’s joined her is older than she is and wears the nicer-than-average clothes of a successful merchant. He’s also leaning much closer than normal conversation calls for.

Something like rage flashes through Claude quicker than he can process it. He makes sure Manuela is steady enough on her feet to walk, then he guides her back to Byleth by way of a firm hand on her shoulder. She’s saying something about a second dance, but there’s a strange ringing in Claude’s ears that makes it impossible for him to decipher the words.

“Hey friend,” he says to the man, clapping him on the shoulder with just a _little_ excessive force. “Can we help you?”

“Not at all.” The merchant gestures to Byleth. “Excuse me, but I was speaking with—”

“Teach,” Claude says instead, turning his attention to her with a tight smile. “Everything good here?”

“Yes,” she replies, sounding uncharacteristically uncertain. She finishes her wine and stands. “But I think I’d like to go now.”

Claude nods and, still keeping Manuela more or less upright, offers Byleth his free arm. She moves to accept, but the merchant slides in between them and grabs her forearm.

“Maybe I read the situation wrong,” he murmurs to her, glancing down at her slightly bared stomach and the tights she’s wearing under her skirt. “How much?”

Rationally, Claude knows that Byleth is more than capable of taking care of herself. And, equally rationally, he’s aware that he’s got his hands full with Manuela, who is beginning to understand that something is wrong and is now shouting in his ear. But there’s another side of him, one that disdains rationality, and that side is screaming at him to put this guy down hard and fast.

He’s filling with a deadly, frozen rage. As that feeling balloons inside, his mind’s eye treats him to the image of this guy’s bloodied face being ground into the wood floor they’re standing on.

Byleth beats him to it. She breaks the man’s wrist so fast that even Claude doesn’t see how she does it. As he releases her arm and begins to howl, she drops several gold pieces onto the floor between them.

“Sounds like a question for a healer,” she says, her face smooth and unconcerned. She slips around the guy to Manuela’s other side. Her eyes meet Claude’s and she jerks her head to the door. “Let’s go.”

“Yeah,” Claude breathes, utterly in awe of her. “Let’s.”

* * *

Their sparring match gets postponed when Byleth’s students are tasked last-minute with taking down some feral beasts that are running amok near the monastery. Claude is a little relieved. He’ll need at least another week to figure out how the hell he’s going to get this ridiculous infatuation back under control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I PROMISE there will be a sparring match between these two lovebirds, and probably sooner rather than later. It's also definitely going to be in Claude's POV because he's going to be wildly uncomfortable and that's too much fun to pass up.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re more worried about this puppy love thing than I thought, Teach. Don’t worry, I’ll do all the talking,” he says with a lazy stretch. “Just nod in all the appropriate places and we’ll do great.”
> 
> “Claude,” she says. There must be something in her voice that alerts him to the seriousness of the errand she’s on, because his grin disappears and his eyes lock onto hers. They narrow slightly as he searches her expression for clues. Meanwhile, he leaves the lectern behind and meets her as she nears the middle of the room, his long legs covering the distance quickly.
> 
> “What’s wrong?” he asks.

Byleth is aware that she isn’t the most obvious choice for a professor. She can come across as aloof because she’s so good at just…accepting things. There isn’t much that touches her deeply enough to shock or hurt. She expects that she can and will at some point experience the highs and lows that everyone else does, but it will just take _more_. More what, she isn’t sure.

This emotional obtuseness means she isn’t surprised when, after seven or so weeks of regular classes and several intense little battles against random ne’er-do-wells, she experiences something about life as a professor that she is completely unequipped to deal with.

Romance.

Specifically, the sort that is already starting to spring up between her students.

She hadn’t noticed when Ashe has started spending all of his extra time with Ignatz. Why would she? She didn’t even try to rationalize it by thinking they were both into archery and appreciated the arts. She just…didn’t think about it much at all. If she had, she might have thought that it made a lot of sense, but she never really dwelled on romance in any context so it didn’t register as a possibility.

Neither did the way that Ingrid kept berating Sylvain’s flirting, something that seemed to surprise him as it was brand new behavior. Again, Byleth belatedly realizes that the girl’s jealousy, however latent, is the obvious source of these encounters, but…she’s the Ashen Demon. It takes her longer to put these things together.

So now she’s got this to deal with, and she has no idea where to start. It doesn’t seem like it should matter much, but Seteth’s repeated mentions of decorous and honorable behavior are becoming more and more pointed.

Ingrid and Sylvain are at least both in her house, but Ignatz isn’t under her direct jurisdiction. And that means his professor will have to get involved as well.

Perhaps it’s a blessing in disguise that Ignatz is Claude’s student. Claude will absolutely know how to handle a budding relationship between students. He’ll joke and laugh and encourage them to find _private places _to _get close,_ and then he’ll wink at them knowingly and it’ll all blow over. She’ll be able to tell Seteth that a conversation has been had and the students are aware of...whatever it is they need to be aware of.

Yes, Claude is a much better choice for this sort of conversation. And at least she’s got Felix and Dedue. _They’re_ not looking for romance.

* * *

Felix starts humming Annette’s songs two weeks later as they travel to a nearby forest to rid it of a nasty group of thieves, and she knows she’s in real trouble.

* * *

“They’re _teenagers,_” Manuela says with a laugh a few days later as she and Byleth take tea in the common room near the faculty offices. “Of course they’re falling in love. That’s what teenagers do.”

“I didn’t,” Byleth protests, feeling something she thinks might be panic churning in her stomach. “I didn’t care about that sort of thing at all.”

“In that case, my dear, you were the exception to the rule. I fell in love every other week when I was a teenager. In fact…I still do.” Manuela pats her hand. “Look, it isn’t against the rules, but this _is_ a monastery and Seteth _is_ a notorious prude, so just remind them not to get too handsy in the dining hall.”

“But it’s none of my business,” Byleth says. “I don’t see how it matters, so long as they’re finishing assignments and passing exams.”

“Well, not that it’s a problem in every case, but if, say, the sole Crest-bearing daughter of House Galatea were to return home with an illicit baby in tow, there might be a bit of an uproar. You see?”

“Ingrid has far too much common sense for that,” Byleth mutters, staring at the tea in her cup. But she supposes Manuela has a point. She is responsible for these kids, after all. She has to at least _try_ to remind them to act circumspectly.

“Have you really never fallen in love?” the ex-songstress asks after a moment.

Byleth shakes her head and tries very hard to ignore the way her brain flashes up the memory of Claude pining her against a tree trunk.

“Never,” she says. It isn’t a lie…but it also doesn’t feel like the complete truth anymore. Which is just—just _absurd._

She never should have come back to this place.

* * *

She steels her nerves as she approaches Claude’s quarters. It’s Sunday evening, so he should be here unless he’s gone into town. She’s already checked the library and his classroom, so if he isn’t here, she’ll just give up and try to track him down a different day.

She certainly doesn’t feel a strange swooping in her stomach as she lifts her hand to knock. Her stomach _never_ swoops. Swooping stomachs happen to other, less practical people.

A few thumps and a shuffling sound alert her to the fact that he is present, and she takes a second to ensure that she is calm and composed. It isn’t something she usually has to think about. Then the door swings open and she realizes there’s no way to prepare for the sight she’s met with.

Claude is a showy dresser. He has what she’s heard Hilda refer to as a _flair. _He’s got enough personality to carry extravagance off, and plain is the last word one would use to describe his personal style.

Tonight is the exception to that rule. Tonight, he wears nothing more than a loose silk tunic and simple woolen trousers tucked into perfectly sensible riding boots. The collar of the tunic is open, leaving the column of his neck and a bit of his chest exposed. He looks…deliciously comfortable. Warm. Too inviting by half. She rarely ever feels the urge to touch people, but she can’t stop wondering if his tunic is as soft as it appears.

She tilts her head back to meet his gaze and sees that his hair is even more disheveled than usual. His green eyes are lit with curiosity, and there’s a bit of a smile tugging at his lips.

“Well, this is an unexpected pleasure,” he says, his voice low and coaxing. She curls her hands into fists and the bite of her fingernails into the skin of her palms soon has her feeling like herself again.

“I…wanted to talk. About Ashe and Ignatz.”

“Ah, finally caught on to that, did you? Come on in,” he says, stepping aside so she can enter his room. “Forgive the mess. I can’t seem to stop reading long enough to clean up.”

“How long have you known?” she asks, picking her way around books and a very distinctively decorated blanket. She perches herself in the chair at his desk as he settles on the edge his bed, elbows resting lightly on his knees.

“Oh, within a week or two of it starting. It was mostly just glances and blushing at the time. Personally, I think it’s sweet.” He lifts a shoulder in a one-sided shrug.

_I do too, _Byleth thinks. It surprises her that she has an opinion about it at all, but there is something endearing about those two gentle souls finding some happiness together. Out loud, she says, “Seteth has been hinting rather strongly that I should say something, only…I don’t know what to say.” She spreads her hands in a clueless gesture, palms up. “I don’t see why it matters whether or not the students pair off. Tactically, it could be seen as an advantage.”

“You really are quite shockingly romantic,” Claude replies, gently mocking. He distracts her again by running his hand through his hair. Some of it falls into his eyes. She takes a steadying breath.

“I don’t think it matters either, if I’m honest, but I suppose being a moral compass _is_ part of the job,” he continues more seriously. “They’re good kids. We’ll just remind them to treat each other well, and they should be able to figure the rest out.”

“That…sounds too easy,” she says. He flashes her a grin.

“We could toss in an anatomy lesson and a discussion about safe sex,” he suggests, his eyes gleaming with amusement at her discomfort.

“I…we _should_, shouldn’t we? Just in case?”

“Byleth,” he says with another laugh, and the sound of her name coming from of his lips so easily sends a jolt through her. So does the genuine mirth in his laughter. “I think they’re old enough to have figured out what goes where. We can ask them if they have any questions, but I doubt they will.” His laugh trails off into chuckles. “Gods, you’re innocent.”

“How could I be innocent? I was a mercenary, and there isn’t a lot of privacy on the road.”

“Still.” He reaches out and pats her hand. “Look, it’ll be awkward for a minute and then we’ll all move past it, okay? Nothing to worry about.”

“Right.” She stands up. “Should we ask them to meet us after class tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Claude agrees, standing with her. He walks her to the door, close enough that she can feel the warmth he radiates like a miniature sun. He reaches past her to push the door open, and in doing so his arm brushes against hers. His tunic _is_ as soft as it looks, and for one insane moment she pictures herself turning around, grabbing fistfuls of it and pushing him backwards until they’re both on his bed. He wouldn’t be able to call her innocent after _that_. But then the cold night air hits her and she snaps out of it, shaking her head to clear it of any lingering ideas.

“You okay, Teach?” he asks, soft and low. She nods, knowing the movement is a bit stiff and probably not very convincing.

“Yes,” she says, now anxious to escape. “I’ll see you—we—goodnight, Claude.”

There’s something smug about the way he wishes her pleasant dreams, but she darts away too quickly for him to elaborate further.

Gods, she really _must_ be an innocent if all it takes is the brush of a man’s sleeve to send her pulse racing. Tomorrow is already promising to be particularly uncomfortable for her.

* * *

Dimitri is waiting outside of the classroom in the morning. His expression is grim, though he does try to smile when she draws near. With a strained expression and a quick glance around to see if anyone else is close enough to hear, he pulls her into the classroom.

“Professor,” he says, “I’ve had a secret report from some ministers back in Faerghus.”

“What is it?” she asks. “Has something happened?”

“Something is about to happen,” he tells her. His blue eyes delve into hers. “There’s a minor lord marshaling troops. I believe he’s planning a rebellion. He has some…troubling history with the Church. That alone would be worrisome enough, but Ashe…Ashe is his adopted son.”

Byleth takes a deep breath. “You’re sure?”

He hesitates, then nods. “I think Seteth knows as well, which means the church will mobilize against Lord Lonato if necessary. Is there anything we can do? I’d prefer it if we could find a way to deescalate this situation without violence. I’m sure Ashe would prefer it as well.”

Byleth nods, considering their options. She can’t think of a way to leave the monastery without raising questions, and she isn’t interested in butting heads with Lady Rhea—at least not this early in the school year. But Dimitri looks deeply distressed, not just for himself but for Lonato and Ashe as well.

She needs options. For a moment, she considers asking her father, but just as quickly she dismisses the idea. He may not be comfortable with Rhea, but he is the leader of the Knights of Seiros. She’d only be asking him to compromise himself, and she doesn’t want to do that.

With Jeralt out of the picture, there’s only one person in the monastery that can help her, much as she hates to admit it. And she has no doubt that he knows _exactly _how to get someone out of the monastery unnoticed.

“I’ll handle it,” she tells Dimitri. “Please, get me a location where I can safely meet Lonato. I need to speak with Claude.”

Dimitri jerks a little in surprise. “Cla—Professor von Riegan? Are you sure that’s wise, Professor?”

_No, not at all,_ she thinks. But that’s not really fair. Claude’s schemes can be annoying or even dangerous, but she doesn’t think he’ll refuse to help if she makes it clear that her errand is of life-or-death importance. The hard part will likely be in getting him to stop pestering her for information she isn’t willing to share, not in securing his aid.

“It’s alright. I don’t know much so I can’t tell him much. But without him, I’m not sure I can get out of the monastery without being watched,” she says. Dimitri doesn’t relax at all, but he gives a short nod.

“If you trust him, I suppose I must as well.”

_Do I trust him? _she wonders as she leaves her home room behind and heads next door to Claude’s. She’s never asked herself that question before. They’ve been rivals for so long that trust seems out of the question…but that’s only on the surface. Underneath, she realizes that she _does_ trust him, or at least she trusts that he’ll want to prevent unnecessary bloodshed. He might be calculating, but he’s never been cold.

She pushes open the door and finds him standing behind his lectern, shuffling through his lesson plans as he prepares for the day. He glances up, spots her and offers a sly smile.

“You’re more worried about this puppy love thing than I thought, Teach. Don’t worry, I’ll do all the talking,” he says with a lazy stretch. “Just nod in all the appropriate places and we’ll do great.”

“Claude,” she says. There must be something in her voice that alerts him to the seriousness of the errand she’s on, because his grin disappears and his eyes lock onto hers. They narrow slightly as he searches her expression for clues. Meanwhile, he leaves the lectern behind and meets her as she nears the middle of the room, his long legs covering the distance quickly.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“I need to leave the monastery. They’ll figure out I’m gone soon enough, but I want to at least have a head start. I know you know how to get out of here without drawing attention,” she replies.

“Where are you going?” he asks. She shakes her head at him and he sighs, rubbing at his jaw in frustration. “Alright, if you can’t tell me that, at least let me know how long you’ll be gone.”

She shakes her head again. Impatience flashes through his eyes as he stares down at her.

“Byleth—”

“Please, Claude. It’s for one of my students. He…there’s a situation back home, and I…”

“You’re terrible at this, you know,” he says, waving her weak explanation away. “Listen, it’s a bad idea for you to leave the monastery. Rhea is watching you too closely, and that kind of behavior is pretty suspicious.”

“But—”

He holds up a hand to silence her. “This student…why don’t you send them?”

“It’s complicated…”

“You mean dangerous.” Claude’s eyes are very shrewd and serious as he stares down at her. This is a side of him she’s never seen before: he’s taking command of the situation, looking at it from all sides and working through the limited information she’s provided. He’s scheming, of course, but the mysteriously higher stakes of this situation have made him razor sharp, not mischievous.

“You still can’t go,” he decides, “especially if the danger is in any way related to the Church. But no one would think it strange for your student to return home if there’s an emergency, and they wouldn’t be able to stop Dimitri from going either.”

“Dimitri?”

“Sure. It’s his territory and he’s ridiculously hung up on duty. Him wanting to personally ensure all is well isn’t so unbelievable.” Claude rubs his forehead. “And on the other hand, he’s the crown prince. He probably should be king already. That means that he’s got the authority to deal with whatever’s happening, even if he is young. No matter who you’re sending him to, they’ll have to at least consider his wishes.”

Byleth shifts. Dimitri’s words as a prince would certainly carry more weight than hers. She’s just a stranger, someone who happens to be teaching Ashe at a school run by the Church, and she has no noble blood or grand connections to claim as credentials.

“Okay,” she agrees, not without reluctance. “We’ll do it your way. I’ll make arrangements for them to leave.”

“And I’ll find them some wyverns,” Claude says, surprising her. She looks up at him and finds he’s smirking just a little. “I promised to help, didn’t I? And it sounds like your cubs will need to move fast.”

“I was right to come to you.” She pauses, unable to hold his gaze any longer. “Thank you, Claude.”

Out of the corner of her eyes, she sees him jerk a little at the sincerity of her words. He lifts a hand to the back of his head. “Ah…I mean, I…you’re welcome,” he mumbles, and without another word she turns and leaves. She needs to find Dimitri and together they need to find Ashe. They have careful preparations to make.

* * *

Rhea doesn’t want to let them go, that much is clear. Byleth stands in front of her in the audience chamber, keeping her expression utterly impassive as she waits for the answer to her request. Does the archbishop suspect that Byleth is aware of the potential rebellion brewing? If she does, she is careful to school her own expression into blandness.

“Very well,” she says after a long period of consideration. Her eyes are cold as she stares at Byleth. “I shall pray that no harm befalls them while they are away from the monastery.”

“So shall I,” Byleth replies. _And if they _are_ harmed, I shall know who to blame._

She leaves Rhea’s presence feeling chilled and uneasy.

* * *

Dimitri and Ashe are gone for almost a week when Claude snatches her away from the fishing pond and drags her behind a storage shed, his eyes blazing with anger.

“You sent them to _quell a rebellion?_” he snaps.

“I was following _your _advice,” she snaps back. “If you’ll recall, I wanted to be the one to go. How did you even find out?”

“Ashe wrote to Ignatz. And before you accuse me of snooping through my students’ mail,” he adds with a glare, “you should know that Ignatz came to me because he’s worried about Ashe’s safety.”

“Someone had to do something. Dimitri and Ashe are against any bloodshed. Lonato might rethink things if he sees how deeply it affects his son.”

Claude shoves his hand through his hair impatiently. “You should have shared all of your information with me. I might have been sending them to their deaths. Pointless deaths, because no military force Lonato might command is strong enough to defy the Knights of Seiros.”

“Claude—”

But he shushes her as footsteps approach. His body language abruptly changes: his shoulders relax, he moves in close and leans toward her, propping his arm up over her head against the wall of the shed. A falsely flirtatious grins stretches over his face and he plucks up a strand of her hair to twirl between the fingers of his other hand.

“What are you doing?” she hisses.

“Shut up or I’ll have to kiss you,” he whispers back just as Flayn comes around the corner.

“Oh! Oh my! Professors, I am so sorry, I never meant to—I saw you rush back here and thought something might be wrong but—” The girl’s cheeks are brilliantly red. She gives them a deep bow and rushes off before any of them can fumble through more explanations.

Immediately, Claude drops Byleth’s hair and steps back. “Well, Seteth’s lecture ought to be _loads_ of fun,” he grumbles.

Byleth moves away from the shed. “Don’t do that again,” she tells him.

“Oh? You had a better idea?”

She just glares at him. He glares back and then growls, “Next time you want my help with something, maybe try trusting me a little.”

She snorts. “And maybe _you_ should try earning that trust,” she retorts. Still fuming, she leaves him there and heads to the training grounds. She needs to hit something.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took a bit longer! I got the flu, then got writer's block. The good news is, the best way to get rid of writer's block is to work through it, so I'm still working! Just...a little more slowly.

The lecture from Seteth is _exactly _as fun as Claude knew it would be. He isn’t sure what Flayn told the other man, but he knew the moment he entered the room that words like _inappropriate _and _propriety _are going to make up the bulk of the lecture.

Halfway through, he holds up his hands like a man about to surrender.

“I get it, Seteth. Really, I do. I took a joke too far, and I realize how bad it could reflect on both Teach and I. I promise, there’s nothing going on.”

Seteth crosses his arms over his chest. “I realize that you are both adults. I also realize that you are both young and single. I must insist, however, that your conduct within the grounds of the monastery be absolutely above reproach. Any…fraternization…must happen on your own time and outside the gates of this sacred place.”

Claude wants so much to laugh or make a joke about fraternization, especially since the word makes Seteth’s face scrunch up with distaste. But he also knows it’s probably better to just take the slap on the wrist and move on.

And at least his little ploy had worked: Seteth has no idea that Claude is aware of Lonato’s possible rebellion or the steps Byleth has taken to stop it.

“Got it, boss man,” he says with a lazy salute. “No funny business.”

“Yes,” Seteth agrees, looking half relieved and half suspicious, as though he expected Claude to put up more of a fight. Claude only smiles at him, innocent as a fawn, and saunters out of the office without another word when he’s dismissed.

_Fraternization. _Claude smirks as he turns down the hallway toward the library. _If anyone needs to do a little fraternizing, it’s that guy. Poor Flayn, it must be hard to live with someone so determined to ignore all the fun parts of being alive._

Seteth follows him out of the office and heads toward the audience chamber with purpose, as though he’s running late for something. When he opens the door to join the Archbishop, Claude spots Byleth. And in her hand, a glowing red sword—one he’s only seen in drawings, one that had supposedly been lost to time.

Library forgotten, Claude changes direction. He decides to hide in plain sight by looking as though he’s waiting for his own meeting with the archbishop. Luckily, the few monks on the second floor mostly ignore him as he positions himself near enough to the closed double doors to make out the sounds of the conversation behind them. It’s easier than he expected because Seteth is on the verge of yelling. Again.

“You can’t mean to simply _hand over_ the most powerful weapon in the Church’s possession—Lady Rhea—”

“Seteth, even you can see that she is the only one capable of wielding it. Look: it has awakened in her hand. She has been chosen by Sothis to strike down our enemies. If she is to stop Lord Lonato, she must be fully equipped to counter his treachery.”

“But…surely there will be no need for her to unleash the power Sword of the Creator. This is a minor rebellion and she will have the assistance of the Knights of Seiros, and of Catherine herself!”

Rhea’s voice hardens. “Be that as it may, Seteth, I want Lord Lonato—and all who dared to offer him succor and support—to know just what they will be facing if they dare attack the heart of the Church again. Let all who see this sword, and the one who wields it, tremble. Let them throw down their blades and come back to us, their heads bowed in humility and penitence.”

Claude grits his teeth and pushes away from the wall he’s been leaning against. This sort of talk always makes his hackles rise. Can no one else see that Rhea is desperate to hold on to her absolute power, so desperate that any challenge to it will be met with fanaticism and slaughter?

But even those thoughts are overshadowed by the shock of learning that Byleth has been handed the Sword of the Creator as though it was always here, just waiting to be placed in her hand. He wishes he could have seen her expression, could gauge her reaction to this unparalleled gift. How long has the Church been hiding that sword? And why turn it over now? What makes Teach able to wield it?

_Damn it. _He thought being here would net him some answers and allow him to dismantle the most damaging parts of Seiros’s doctrines so he could breach the wall between Fódlan and Almyra. That goal feels almost impossible now, especially with a fanatic like Rhea holding the reins of power. He can see that she won’t loosen her grip on them for anything, even if doing so would mean bettering the lives of thousands of people on both sides of the border.

He thinks of young Cyril, utterly captivated by this woman, so much so that he’s forsaken his homeland with a smile, and his stomach turns over.

With these thoughts swirling through his mind, he gives up on the library—he’s far too angry—and heads instead for the training yard. Maybe bashing some things with a blunted axe will make him feel more in control.

* * *

He’s just bathed and is making his way toward the dining hall for supper when Byleth grabs him.

“Easy on the goods, Teach,” he says, glad his irritation is well masked by the quip. Confusion and doubt always irritate him. But the humorous deflection is something he regrets a little as soon as he sees the grim look in her eyes. “What happened?”

“Dimitri is back,” she says.

“Ah, so I take it he wasn’t able to convince Lord Lonato—” Then his brain catches up to his mouth. “Wait…_just_ Dimitri?”

Byleth nods. “Ashe remained behind. I’m not sure if he volunteered to stay or not, but I suspect not. In fact, I think the only reason Dimitri wasn’t detained was because the noble houses in the Kingdom would have allied with the Knights and marched against Lonato immediately.”

Claude’s breath hisses out between clenched teeth as he drags a hand through his hair. “Rhea is going to take him down,” he says. Byleth nods, looking grave.

“Worse, she’s asked my class to help,” she says. “I’ve already been summoned for a meeting. We’ve been ordered to assist the Knights.”

“And Ashe?”

“I’m sure the archbishop will offer many prayers for the benefit of his soul.” Byleth’s voice is cold and full of disgust. “Unless my students and I can save him before the Knights slaughter everyone involved.”

“Can Jeralt help?”

“I already spoke with him. He says he’ll do what he can to get his men to spare Ashe, but there’s nothing he can do for Lonato. And Catherine, the knight leading this exercise, is a devout follower of Rhea’s, not just the Church’s.”

Claude doesn’t answer. He’s too busy picking over their options, and wondering if there’s anything she’s leaving out. Will she tell him about the Sword of the Creator? Would he, if he were in her shoes?

“What do your students think?” he asks.

“They’re terrified. It must be a test of their loyalty to the Church, but why? None of them wield power in their own right just yet. For most, that opportunity won’t come for many years.”

Claude bites back the obvious answer: because Rhea is obsessed with keeping the Church at the center of it all, Fódlan’s three sovereign territories be damned. If she frightens these students into obedience now, they won’t attempt risings of their own in the future.

“There’s something else,” Byleth says, grasping Claude’s wrist and breaking through his thoughts. “Come with me.”

He follows willingly, recognizing the route to her quarters. She _is_ going to tell him about the sword. It makes him feel…unexpectedly grateful. His suspicions ease a little: she clearly trusts him, no matter what harsh words they’d exchanged on that topic.

She closes the door behind them once they’ve entered her room. Then, from under her bed, she retrieves a locked box meant for weapons storage. She undoes the lock with a whispered spell as well as a key—he appreciates these precautions even as he makes careful note of them—and opens the lid to reveal the Sword of the Creator.

“Rhea gave me this to use in the upcoming battle. It upset Seteth quite badly. She tells me I’m the only one that can wield it, but she won’t say how or why.”

Claude lets out a low whistle as he stares down at the weapon. It’s dormant now, just an intricate ivory blade, but he’s already seen it glow red at her touch. He knows Rhea is right: no one else can make use of this sword.

“The only other person in history that could fight with this was Nemesis. King of Liberation.” Claude’s hands ball into fists as he resists the urge to reach for it. “You must be a descendant, though I don’t recall any legends that mention offspring.”

“I don’t see how that’s possible,” Byleth says. Then she sighs. “But I suppose you’d know more about it than I would. Perhaps I _am _his descendant, but I don’t think it ultimately matters that much.”

“Doesn’t matter?” Claude repeats with a slightly incredulous laugh. “That bloodline supposedly ended with him, yet here you stand, and it doesn’t matter?”

“Not if it means I have to use this against my own students,” Byleth replies quietly, looking at the sword with distaste. She shuts the case and locks it again. “He’s been dead and gone for ten generations. Whatever his goals were, whatever his ideals, they died with him. I have my own, and this sword won’t change them.”

“What are those ideals, Teach?” he asks. “Because with _that _and perhaps a few devoted followers, you could accomplish…pretty much anything.”

He’s tense as he waits for her answer: a lot seems to ride on what she _really_ wants, though he isn’t at all sure exactly how bound she is to Rhea and the Church just yet. Still, this feels like the moment that will decide whether Byleth will become a friend or a foe.

“First and foremost, to protect my students. From any threat.” Byleth’s voice is calm but cold. Her eyes meet his. “Even ones as powerful as the archbishop.”

Claude nods. “That’s an ideal I can get behind. And I’ll do you one better: the Golden Deer will accompany you on this mission. The more people looking out for Ashe’s well-being, the better. I’m sure Rhea won’t object to extra fighters marching with her avenging army.”

Byleth nods back at him. She lifts her hand, hesitates, and then places it on his arm. “Thank you,” she says.

He looks away, feeling his traitorous cheeks heat with a flush that gives away far too much about his genuine feelings. Why can’t he be cool and detached when it comes to her? “We really gotta stop having moments like this,” he mumbles. “I never know what to do with my hands.”

She smiles a little, tilting her head as she looks at him. “Oh, I don’t know. Seeing you flustered _is _kind of rewarding.”

“Teach,” he says, covering his heart with his free hand and winking at her, “do you want me to get _another _lecture about fraternization?”

She lets go of his arm and nudges him toward the door. “Goddess save us from that,” she jokes, making him grin. “Go on. I hear it’s pheasant tonight and you’ll want to get in line before Raphael gets seconds.”

He obeys, though he only stops in the dining hall long enough to request a takeaway meal. He has far too much to think about to engage in small talk with his students tonight. Instead, he eats in his room while diving through every book he has that mentions Nemesis and the Sword of the Creator.

* * *

“I don’t like this. There’s far too many students going along, and I’ll be too busy to play babysitter,” Catherine grumbles as the Golden Deer and Blue Lion students fall in formation with the knights

“That’s why _we’re _coming,” Claude replies, jerking his thumb back and forth between himself and Byleth. “Babysitting is what Rhea pays us to do, after all.”

Byleth says nothing. She’s watching Dimitri, and her brow is furrowed. This isn’t the first time the prince has made her worry, but Claude wonders what it is this time. The young man seems well enough: he gives a few orders to the rest of his class, then takes his position at their head.

“He’s concerned,” Byleth murmurs. “Or that’s what he tells me. But something’s off.”

Before Claude can respond, Catherine gives the order to march, and the long column of knights and students begins to lurch forward. They have very little in the way of air support, but a glance is enough to tell him that they’re going to far outnumber Lonato’s forces even without it. That knowledge leaves him asking the same question they’ve all had at one point or another during this mess.

_Why?_

He hopes they can keep Lonato alive long enough to answer, but the steely look on Catherine’s face makes him doubt it.

* * *

Magdred Way is a foggy mess when they arrive. Catherine immediately gives orders for her knights to spread out and begin hunting for traitors through the woodlands, while keeping her archers and mages closely guarded with a ring of heavy armor. As the knights begin to carry out her orders, Claude approaches Byelth.

“We’ll have to leave most of our students to support her,” he murmurs softly, “but we’d better slip around the main army and get to Ashe and Lonato first. You got anyone quick and sneaky in your class?”

Byleth considers. Her eyes fall on Dimitri, but Claude shakes his head.

“No. I’m sorry, Teach, but I think your instincts are right: there’s something off about his behavior, and if we’re going to succeed, we can’t afford any surprises.”

“Ingrid and Felix, then,” Byleth decides.

“Good. I’ll bring Ignatz and Leonie. Let’s get ready to move out. We’ll meet you in the trees over to the east there.” He nods to indicate a patch of woods away from the main body of the army, and Byleth heads off to her students. Most of the Blue Lions join the ring of archers and mages, but Felix and Ingrid fan out with the knights searching the forest, and they disappear in the direction of the trees Claude had pointed out.

He does the same, motioning for Ignatz and Leonie to stay with him as he organizes the placement of the rest of his class with Catherine’s forces. Then he works his way, slow and steady, toward that same patch of trees. In the fog, getting away isn’t too difficult, and the sudden clash of steel on steel adds even more distraction.

Byleth and her students are waiting, but she starts moving as soon as she spots the three of them. “Let’s go,” she says.

They move through the forest swiftly, keeping the sounds of battle to their left. Felix is astonishingly light and quick on his feet, dashing through the woods while hardly making a sound. Ingrid isn’t as graceful, but she keeps silent and is quick to spot any enemies through the mist. Ignatz fires arrows at the targets she points out, allowing them to make good progress. Then an awe man attacks Leonie from the right, and they’re swarmed a moment later by several fighters.

Claude and Byleth fall into step with one another as though they’ve fought side by side all their lives. He stays behind her, taking out any targets approaching her flanks. She finishes off the ones in front of them, clearly trusting him to watch her back as she deals with the most immediate threats. In the meantime, both teachers bark directions at their students when necessary.

“Leonie, left!” he shouts just as Byleth directs Ingrid to create some space so Ignatz can fight more effectively. Felix is carving a path through their enemies all on his own, but Claude calls him back before he gets cut off from the group.

Working with Byleth is easy. It’s more like dancing than fighting, and as they kill the last of their attackers, he feels his blood sing with the exhilaration of fighting beside her.

“Come on, we’ve got to hurry,” he says, and without hesitation the small group continues on through the trees. Then, all at once, the fog lifts.

“Magic,” Felix mutters. “Only a weak man relies on such tricks.”

“It was a practical strategy,” Byleth corrects him. “Especially since his men are so outnumbered.”

Felix only makes a disgusted noise and keeps moving. Through the trees, they can make out the larger skirmish happening to their left. Archers and mages are firing at the bulk of Lonato’s forces, but there’s no sign of Ashe or Lonato yet.

Then Ignatz points to a small stone pavilion. There are defensive wards carved into the structure. Inside is a man that must be Lord Lonato, and at his side, looking tortured, stands Ashe. Even from a distance, Claude can tell the boy is trying to speak with the lord. Lonato is answering, but his expression is closed.

A shout tells him that they’re not the only ones that have spotted the pair. Seiros Knights begin fighting harder, trying to break through so they can attack the defensive forces Lonato has placed in a ring around the pavilion.

“You sure you want to do this?” Claude asks Byleth softly. Her eyes are locked onto Ashe. She gives a single, short nod before pressing forward. For the first time since the battle started, she sheathes the steel sword she’s been using and pulls out the Sword of the Creator. It glows red as she draws it, its beacon-like light drawing the eyes of Lonato and his men.

“You’re all being brainwashed! That woman is evil!” Lonato shouts across the field. Byleth only continues on, her face carved of stone. Claude follows in her wake, an arrow notched and ready. The students are on his heels, though Felix mutters something under his breath. Ingrid shushes him quickly.

“Ashe,” Byleth calls. “Come away.”

“I can’t!” The boy’s voice is a miserable. “He’s my father, how can I leave him?”

“He’s chosen his path, Ashe. But it doesn’t have to be yours.”

Ashe shakes his head, but Lonato looks at the blade in Byleth’s hand, and at Claude following a step behind, ready to fire. He makes a decision that seals his fate beyond any hope of salvation. He grasps Ashe and yanks him into the horse he’s riding. He might not have meant to use the boy as a shield, but that’s certainly what it looks like.

Byleth sighs. Her shoulders drop and her head falls. She knows there can be no other outcome now. Today, Rhea will get what she wants.

She looks to Claude. He meets her gaze and shares her dismay in a moment of silent understanding. An instant later, he’s drawn and fired. Lonato tumbles off of his horse with an arrow in his eye, dragging a wailing Ashe to the ground with him.

After that, the battle becomes a rout. Byleth goes to help Ashe. Claude doesn’t speak to her again until the next day.

* * *

Two days later, their actions still weigh heavily on Claude’s shoulders. He doesn’t feel guilty per say, but he doesn’t appreciate playing the pawn for a woman he has no faith in. As for the woman he _does _have faith in…he’s watched from the edges as Byleth and her students gather around Ashe, protecting him from any inquisitive Church officials. The boy doesn’t speak much, but he prays a lot. Ignatz stays with him, quietly sketching as they sit beside one another in the cathedral.

The whole thing makes Claude angry. The powerless feeling he’s had since Magdred reminds him far too sharply of his own childhood, which only fuels his quiet fury.

That fury is making it impossible to sleep, and he finds himself wandering through the monastery grounds. There are more guards posted, but none of them spare him much of a glance. They’re used to the sight of him prowling the halls at night. His feet take him first to the Goddess Tower, but when stargazing doesn’t soothe him, he heads to the training yard.

His ears tell him he isn’t the only one that suffers from sleeplessness tonight. He pushes open the door to the yard and spots Byleth. She’s whipping a training lance around in a complicated twirl, so fast that it’s just a whistling blur of wood. Claude’s never been great with a lance, but he can appreciate Byleth’s technique. She plants her feet and launches the lance across the yard at a dummy. It should have been too long and too top heavy to fly straight, but it smacks into the dummy before physics can get the better of it. The blade is dull, so it clatters to the ground without doing much damage, but a human being would have found themselves with a crushed jaw or worse.

He claps and she spins toward him, chest heaving. She’s been at this for a while then.

“Can’t sleep?” he asks.

“No,” she says. “Recently I’m finding it…impossible.”

“Well.” He grins at her, though it’s far from genuine. “You _do_ owe me a sparring match.

“You want to spar now?” she asks.

“Absolutely.” He gestures to the empty sidelines with a grand sweep of his arm. “No one’s here to watch you humiliate me.”

Her lips twitch a little but she doesn’t comment. Instead she nods and he moves to the lockers that hold the training weapons. His hand slides over the bows, rippling across their grips…but no, not this time. He wants to hit things from up close tonight.

So he picks up a blunted wooden axe. It’s much lighter than its metal counterparts, but it’ll still hurt if he manages to get a good hit in. When he glances back at Byleth, she’s already picked up a training sword and is swinging it with ease, loosening muscles she’s already warmed up with lance practice.

He crosses to the other side of the yard, doing some swinging of his own as he gets used to the weight and balance of the wooden axe. Then he settles into a neutral stance and winks at her. “Ready when you are, Teach.”

She springing toward him before the sentence is finished, and he’s glad he picked a neutral stance because it’s easy to switch to a defensive one in a split second. He brings the axe up to meet her brutal swing, then drops back when she recovers and goes for a jab.

Back a step, then her blade flashes toward his face in a two-handed upswing that he barely manages to deflect. He grits his teeth: he’s managed to turn her blade, but she swaps her grip and brings it back toward him in a backhanded slash.

He ducks and swings his axe low, but she jumps the blade. He allows the momentum to pull him into a forward roll and comes up to his full height with a little space to work with. He crosses that space in two strides and brings his axe raining down with all the power of his upper body, but she dives away and circles around while he regains control of his weapon.

They dance like this for a long time. At first, Claude channels all of his anger into the fight. He swings his axe at her like she’s the Church itself. Then, as his muscles loosen with the exercise and his mind empties of all but the challenge of keeping up with Byleth, he begins to notice other things.

Like the way her eyes glow as their blades clash and separate. Or the way she moves, her grace turning this brutal sparring match into a thing of beauty. The strength and speed of her is incredible.

“Focus,” she warns him, tapping his arm with the flat of her blade as they circle each other again.

“I am focused,” he retorts defensively. Its true, he is…just maybe not on the right things.

She lifts an eyebrow at him before delivering another flurry of attacks. He falls back, relying on blocks and parries to keep him in the fight. Frustrated, she aims a kick at his head. As he ducks, he thinks of how amazing her legs are, and then it’s _really _hard to focus.

His breathing goes short as she uses his distraction to slam him back against one of the pillars lining the courtyard. She’s breathing hard too, and glaring at him as if she suspects he’s throwing the fight. He isn’t, not on purpose, but the feel of her body jammed up against his is making him want to drop the axe and lift her off of her feet until she’s got her legs wrapped around his hips, and…

“_Fight me_,” she demands, like they haven’t been doing just that for the last quarter of an hour.

He shoves her back and tries to ignore the way his body is straining toward hers. At least none of the students will bear witness to him getting a raging hard on while she demolishes him in battle. A man can only take so much.

He moves in to attack again, the axe swinging back and forth across his body as he closes in for the strike. She watches closely and is already moving to parry as the axe comes her way. Then, while his deflected blow still has him off-balance, she lunges forward and slams into him, bringing him to the ground hard. Her tourney blade is at his throat when they land on the packed dirt of the floor, but what really grabs his attention is the way she’s straddling him.

“Yield,” she demands. He only grins at her, wishing he could yank her down for a kiss instead. She grips his shirt with her off hand and shoves him harder into the dirt. “_Yield.”_

He means to. Honestly, he’s about to. And then she shifts her weight backwards so she can put him into a more effective hold, and he has to bite back a moan as her ass slides over the hard ridge of his erection. Instinctively, his hands flash up to grab her hips. It takes all of his willpower to hold her still instead of pulling her down as he grinds up into her core, because Goddess above she’s gorgeous and he’s fantasized about this more than once, but those fantasies could never match the way she really feels on top of him.

She freezes, her mouth dropping open in shock, and he squeezes his eyes shut as mortification finally breaks through the haze of lust that’s invaded his brain. Before he can remember enough words to apologize, she scrambles off of him and disappears.

He groans and bangs his head against the ground. The next time he sees the Sword of the Creator, she’ll probably be swinging it at his neck. But even that thought doesn’t cool his body. He puts the discarded weapons away and slinks back to his room, still half hard, and wonders if his students will notice if he just stays there for the next week.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She has several problems, actually, but this one she absolutely can’t ignore, because this one is an entire personality that has taken up residence in her brain.
> 
> /We share a soul, not a brain,/ the girl says. /And I have a name, you know./
> 
> Byleth knows. The girl—Sothis—has only mentioned it repeatedly since the moment she touched the Sword of the Creator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, FINALLY. Sorry this chapter took so long. I had a HELL OF A TIME trying to figure out what to do with it. I never meant to put a no-shit plot in this fic, but late in the game I decided to go with the Church stuff, and now I'm trying to figure out how that works with my UST-rival teacher story. I'm getting there...slowly.

Byleth has a problem.

She has several problems, actually, but this one she absolutely can’t ignore, because _this one_ is an entire personality that has taken up residence in her brain.

_We share a soul, not a brain, _the girl says. _And I have a name, you know._

Byleth knows. The girl—Sothis—has only mentioned it repeatedly since the moment she touched the Sword of the Creator.

Time had frozen in that instant, her perception of reality distorting until all she could see was a throne sitting atop a high dais, and a green-haired girl perched on that throne, her eyes curious and annoyed.

“I am The Beginning,” the girl had announced. Then her brow had furrowed. Neither of them knew what exactly that meant. And there hadn’t been time to puzzle it out: after a brief introduction, the girl had dozed off and reality had swept Byleth away again. Oddly, neither Seteth or Rhea seemed to have noticed that she’d been…elsewhere. It seemed as though only half a second had passed, and Byleth had been prepared to write it all off as a hallucination…

But Sothis keeps talking. Since the first, there hasn’t been any more reality-bending, yet the girl’s voice breaks into her thoughts with alarming regularity. And she has an opinion about pretty much _everything._

They’d figured out that Sothis was _Sothis_, Fódlan’s revered goddess, quickly, but neither has any idea what to do with this information. Sothis’ memories are full of frustrating blanks. And the goddess herself seems far more interested in Byleth’s interpersonal relationships than solving the mystery of her strange half-life.

Byleth considers telling someone about this anomaly and even gets as far as her father’s door before she gives up. It sounds _insane_, doesn’t it? And the idea of telling Claude…

_Ah, yes. The handsome one. He **does** seem to be on your mind a lot. Especially since you—_

“Yes, I’m aware of why he’s been on my mind, thank you,” Byleth hisses as she steps into the blessed privacy of her quarters, feeling her cheeks heat as she remembers—everything. She can’t help but remember it, vividly and far too often. And that’s another one of her problems. What the hell is she supposed to say to him after…that?

_Shy? But aren’t you a mercenary? Surely you’re not unfamiliar with sex, _Sothis says, giggling like one of the students.

“Don’t be so sure,” Byleth mutters back. It’s not that she’s unfamiliar with sex, it’s just that sex has never been something she’s ever really wanted or sought out before. And she has no idea what to do in the aftermath of their…encounter. Or with the fact that her body had reacted, instinctively and _strongly_, to the feel of his arousal. She still feels vaguely achy and extremely confused whenever she thinks about it.

_That’s called yearning, I think, and it means you want him back._

“Stop that. You look like you’re eleven years old. I don’t want to talk about this with you.”

_I’m a goddess! Not some ignorant child! Who do you think it was that gave you humans those urges you’re feeling so strongly? _Byleth can practically hear her little foot stomping.

“No more,” she says firmly, and the goddess reacts with a silent wave of frustration but complies. For now.

_So what **should** we talk about?_ Sothis demands. _I’m bored and I don’t want to go to sleep yet._

“Dimitri.” The name is out of her mouth before she even really thinks about it, and in her mind Sothis hums in sympathetic bemusement.

_Yes, from your memories of him and his actions over the past few days, I can see why you’re concerned, _the girl agrees. _He seems to be blaming himself for that rebellion._

“Yes,” Byelth says, sitting on her bed and staring down at her hands as she thinks about the young prince. “He _is_ taking it personally. On top of that, he seems edgy and desperate. He usually has such good control, but recently…it’s as if he thinks the whole Kingdom is crumbling apart.”

_It probably does seem that way to him. And I have to say it was pretty heartless of that Rhea woman to order your students to take Lord Lonato down. She had to have known how deeply it would affect your students._

“She knew,” Byleth replies, her voice cold. “That was the whole point. She wants them to fear her if they can’t love her.”

_How very predictable. And…disappointing? But that doesn’t make any sense. At any rate, she certainly isn’t winning herself any allies. Why do so many people blindly pledge their allegiance to her?_

“Because she can help them in their times of need.” Byleth’s fingers curl into fists where they rest on her bent knees. “She saves them, then makes them feel like they’re essential to her, and they repay her with their devotion.”

_She has that kind of charisma? I haven’t seen much evidence of it._

“She must have. She even won my father over, for a time.”

Sothis hums again, this time thoughtfully, before giving a yawn. _Your life certainly is complicated. Just thinking about it is making me tired._

Byleth’s only reply is a snort. Everything makes Sothis tired.

_We must find a way to soothe your prince, before his desperation makes him irrational or paranoid, _Sothis muses even as she falls asleep again. She’s right, that’s exactly what Byleth needs to do, but she doesn’t know how. She can’t hold the Kingdom together from here, and neither can he. His coronation seems impossibly far away.

And of course there’s Ashe to worry about too. Her shoulders slump a little as she thinks of the way he wanders around the monastery like a ghost, pale and red-eyed and practically silent. She needs to get him some answers before he tortures himself with all the _whys._

So many problems and so few solutions. Even she feels off-balance. But she has to start trying to solve them, and she knows where she has to start: with Claude. If she’s going to make any progress on the rest of her dilemmas, she’ll need his help. And to get that help, she knows they have to clear the air. Somehow.

* * *

She doesn’t find Claude right away. Instead, at the other's insistence, she sits down to tea with Manuela.

"I can't stay long," the older woman says as Byleth pours a lavendar blend into their cups. "I have choir practice in the Cathedral in a couple of hours."

"I understand." Byleth takes a sip of her tea. It isn't her favorite, but it isn't bad.

"I just thought that you were beginning to look a little stressed, and I heard about your last mission. I figured a nice cup of tea might help you to relax." Manuela reaches for a pastry, tearing it in pieces before popping a chunk in her mouth. She sighs in pleasure at the taste. "Come on, let's gossip. The way you run around the monastery, I'm sure you've seen or heard something juicy."

Byleth considers this. There's the usual: the budding romances between the students. She'd just suggested to Felix that he try to deepen his understanding of Reason, which he'd somehow translated to 'study exclusively with Annette.' She didn't think he realized yet how often he sought the mage's company, but before long even he wouldn't be able to ignore the way she made him blush and fumble. And Sylvain had actually tried not to flirt so much after Ingrid cornered him a few days ago. Byleth still isn't sure how the girl got through to him, but it seems to be working for now. The complaints about his behavior have almost stopped.

But what she wants to discuss is their fellow professor. Manuela might have some advice for how to clear the air between them. She takes a moment to privately gather her composure before she asks, "Has Claude seemed...a little off to you?"

Manuela takes a very careful sip of tea. "Off?" she manages, far too innocently to be ignorant of what Byleth means.

"Yes. Off. He's been avoiding me."

"I haven't noticed anything, no. Did something happen?" The older woman's eyes gleam. Byleth thinks she might know much more than she's letting on, but she's content to let her colleague draw it out of her. For some reason, answering questions is easier than outright explaining. To keep her hands busy, she lifts her teacup again though she doesn't drink from it right away.

"We were sparring the other night, and I won. I pinned him."

Manuela is leaning forward in her seat, her eyes glowing. "So you think he's avoiding you because you won?"

Byleth coughs a little and says, "No, I'm pretty sure it was because of...something else." She watches as Manuela lifts her own cup to her lips before tilting her head and adding, "He was...aroused."

There's a choking sound and Manuela nearly drops her cup, sputtering for a clean gulp of air. Suddenly the older woman is laughing hard enough that tears form in the corners of her eyes. "Goodness, I never expected you to be so _forward_, Professor. Well, no wonder he's been evasive, he's probably embarrassed, poor little lamb."

"How much of this did you already know?" Byleth asks, sipping her own tea. Manuela laughs again and waves a hand.

"Oh, all of it. He...how should I put it? _Overindulged_ a little in the monastery's wine stores and spilled the whole story. I think he was hoping I could tell him how to apologize after he almost—and I hope you'll pardon my crudeness—embarrassed himself to the point of needing a fresh pair of pants."

Byleth's cheeks heat up and she reaches for the teapot so she won't have to meet Manuela's too-delighted gaze. "Well, I need the same advice. What should I say to him?'

"The way I see it, you have two options: you either throw caution to the wind, or you pretend it never happened. In your shoes, young as you are and with a man that good-looking? I'd throw caution to the wind. You only live once." She gives a dreamy sigh. "Oh, to have my youth back, and to be courting a handsome young noble...some girls have all the luck."

* * *

She isn't sure she feels lucky. And by the time she's cleaned up the tea table, she still doesn't think she's quite up to facing Claude. But he isn't her only problem, and there's another conversation she's been pushing off, unsure of how much she actually wants to know. Before she'd been handed the Sword of the Creator, she had been able to convince herself that she knows enough. But that isn't true anymore, and there's only one person that can tell her about her past, other than Rhea herself. So once the tea has been cleared away, she makes her way to her father's second-floor office and knocks on his door. When he bids her enter, she closes and locks it behind her.

He'd been sitting at his desk, double-checking a roster of deployed knights against a list of the Church's available forces. Beside that are a couple of ledger books and an inventory of weapons and their conditions. But as she walks into the room, he pushes away from his workspace and settles himself on one of the couches in the center of the room, gesturing for her to join him.

“Judging by the locked door and the look on your face, I’d say this isn’t a social call,” Jeralt comments as she sits down across from him.

“No, I’m sorry.”

His lips tighten for a moment and then he blows out a long breath. “I suppose I knew this was coming,” he admits.

“You must have some idea of why I can wield the Sword of the Creator,” she says, folding her hands into her lap.

“An idea is _all_ I have. Rhea never confided in me.” He stares down at his clasped fingers. “I expect it has something to do with the blood she gave me. The blood I passed down to you. Then there was your mother…her blood…well, I don’t know much about it myself. And Rhea…she did something to you when you were a baby. She saved your life, but…”

“But?”

“But you weren’t like other babies. You were stoic and silent. It’s only after you were a student here that you started to change.” He sighs. “Whatever Rhea did, whatever she gave you, it seems to have left her with the impression that you belong to her in some way.”

“But you don’t know what that is?”

Jeralt shakes his head. “I only know that she was very protective of your mother, but when you came along, that protectiveness transferred to you. She was obsessed with you even then, and now… nothing has changed. We’re here because she wants you close.”

“So Rhea is the reason I bear the Crest of Flames…but how can anyone wield the Sword of the Creator without its crest stone?” Byleth wonders.

“No one has seen that sword in generations. I’m afraid Rhea alone knows that answer, unless she’s confided in Seteth.” He looks her hard in the eye. “I know I should have told you these things a long time ago. I probably should have told you the first time we were dragged back here. But the truth is, I only have a little information and it doesn’t add up to much. That’s one of the reasons why I’m so damn worried. Rhea has been playing her own game for a long time, and I never wanted you to be a part of it.”

Byleth nods. “I understand. Trust me, I won’t let my guard down. After that rebellion…”

Jeralt makes a low, angry noise. “How are your students doing?”

“Ashe is a mess. Prince Dimitri seems to blame himself. The others are shaken but bearing up well.”

“Are you bearing up well?” Jeralt asks, eyeballing her. Byleth gives him a small smile.

“I’m alright, Dad.”

“And that Riegan guy…he’s not bothering you?”

For once, Byleth is glad that she doesn’t emote as easily as everyone else. She manages to keep her expression calm even as pulse begins to race. “No more than usual,” she says.

Jeralt doesn’t look too convinced. “He asks a lot of dangerous questions. And he’s always loitering around wherever you happen to be.”

Byleth doesn’t know what to say to that, and her father frowns and adds, “I don’t like the way he looks at you.”

A fond smile comes to her lips. “Don’t worry about Claude, Dad.”

“Well, now I’m _definitely _worried.” But he smiles at her. “Though I suppose you’re old enough to handle that sort of thing yourself. I still reserve the right to cause him extreme physical pain if he ever hurts you.”

“I’m sure it won’t come to that,” Byleth replies, still smiling.

* * *

The smile leaves her lips as soon as she steps out of her father’s door. A flash of heat scorches through her as she remembers—_again_—the way it felt when she slid down his body and over his erection. Desire had jolted through her like a lightning bolt, and her skin still feels electrified whenever she thinks of it.

It’s a bad idea to let herself get distracted by him. He’s the heir to the Leicester Alliance, noble born and destined to lead a country. Even if that was a path she could follow him down, she isn’t even sure she wants to, or that _he_ would want her to. And while this yearning is something completely new to her, she isn’t about to confuse lust with something more. That’s a mistake she’s seen many others make, especially the lonely mercenary men that had once worked for her father.

Still, she can’t help the way her mouth goes dry every time she even thinks of speaking to him after their last meeting in the training grounds.

_Oh, just talk to him, _Sothis says impatiently. _It’ll only grow more awkward the longer you avoid him._

Byleth knows the goddess is right. She forces her steps in the direction of the Golden Deer’s classroom. Only he isn’t there. Nor is he in his own quarters, the library or the dining hall. She pauses in the cathedral to offer Ashe a quiet word of support, then she heads to the training grounds. The stables. The marketplace.

He’s nowhere.

She pauses near the fish pond to contemplate where else she might look when Annette and Mercedes run up to her.

“Professor! Professor!” Annette is saying, her voice tight with concern. She and Mercedes both scramble to a halt in front of her. There’s a crease in between Mercedes’ eyebrows and her eyes are troubled. Annette looks almost on the verge of tears.

“What’s wrong?” Byleth asks. Her hand moves to the hilt of her dagger before she can think about it, but Mercedes reaches out and grasps her fingers.

“It’s Lady Rhea…someone’s just tried to assassinate her. She was stabbed while offering prayers in the Saint's Chapel. Manuela's seen her but only for a few minutes. She's summoned the staff to the audience chamber.”

“Is she alright?” Byleth is already heading toward the stairs on the far side of the reception hall.

Annette answers. “She’s fine but…but I think she’s going to have the men executed.”

“Of course she is, Annette. They tried to commit a terrible crime against a holy person," Mercedes points out.

“But there hasn’t been a trial or anything!” Annette’s hands flutter in distress. “That doesn’t sound right, does it Professor?”

Byleth only hums a little, her mind whirling through the implications of this attack on Lady Rhea. First a rebellion, now this? Someone is targeting the Church, that’s clear…but for what purpose?

“Try not to worry,” she tells her students. “I’ll explain everything to the class once I understand what’s happening.”

“Right,” Annette says with a nod. “We’ll spread the word.”

“May the goddess grant them peace,” Mercedes adds, and the girls leave her at the foot of the stairs. Byleth climbs them and meets her father as they turn toward the audience chamber. They exchange a grim look before joining the others.

Claude is standing with Manuela, his arms crossed over his chest. He glances at them when they come to a halt, but says nothing. Manuela is wringing her hands and Seteth’s face is set in stone. Catherine and Shamir are also there, along with a tall, older redhead.

“Gilbert Pronislav,” Jeralt whispers to her. “From the Kingdom.”

She nods minutely before focusing on Rhea. The woman appears to be serene, but her dress and cape are torn and bloody at the left shoulder, and Manuela keeps eyeballing the fresh pink skin peeking out from the rip.

“Before I bring my attackers here to face you, I must warn you: these men appear to be agents of the Western Church.”

Everyone in the room stiffens except for Byleth. She only waits.

“Their aim was clearly to dispose of me as the leader of the Central Church, but I am unsure of what their aims were beyond that point. They could be misguided souls acting on their own, but we may need to prepare for a schism with the Western Church,” Rhea continues.

No one speaks, but out of the corner of her eye, Byleth sees Claude’s frown and knows he doesn’t agree with the archbishop. On her other side, Jeralt shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“A schism, huh? But why now? And why start it with such a violent act?” he asks, and Claude glances at him. Clearly, her father has just asked a couple of the questions he’s been harboring himself.

Rhea shakes her head. “All I can offer is speculation, Jeralt. But I will allow you to speak to these fiends themselves. Seteth,” she gestures to him. “Bring in the captives.”

There are three of them, heavily chained. They shuffle in and stand before the monastery staff. Byleth expects to see anger or defiance on their faces, but they seem more afraid than anything else.

“You stand accused of attempting to assassinate the archbishop of the Church of Seiros, the holy Lady Rhea,” Seteth intones, his face carefully expressionless though his eyes are burning with fury. “What say you to these charges?”

They don’t answer, but the one in the middle spits at Rhea.

“What was your plan?” Shamir demands. “Is the Western Church breaking off? Or are your leaders trying to gain control of the Central Church?”

“You’ve got it all wrong,” the one on the right says. “This wasn’t planned by the Western Church at all. We were lambs _she_ led to slaughter, that’s all—!”

“Silence!” Rhea’s voice rings out through the chamber, drowning out the man’s protests. “Your lies will not help you. This is your last chance to confess and cleanse your souls before you meet the goddess.”

The men begin fighting their chains. “You’re _evil!”_ snaps the one in the middle.

“Evil? You are foul murderers. Catherine, Shamir, take control of these men. I must make preparations for their execution.”

“Execution?” Claude is trying to sound amused, but his voice is strained and his eyes are cold. “That’s not very benevolent or merciful of you, your worshipfulness. And so hasty! We haven’t even seen any evidence yet.”

Rhea turns her gaze to him. She is as placid as a tundra, and nearly as frigid. “Surely my nearly fatal wound is proof enough. Had Manuela not heard my cry, I would be dead now. Seteth and Catherine caught them trying to sneak away, and one of them was still clutching the bloody knife. What more proof do you require?”

They stare at each other in silence. Then she adds, “As archbishop, it is my responsibility to pass judgement on those that have grievously sinned against the goddess. These men have broken the holy laws set down by the Saints themselves. They shall die for it. May the goddess forgive them and have mercy on their souls.”

_I shall, _Sothis murmurs in Byleth’s mind, _but something about this makes me feel very…suspicious._

_I don’t think you’re the only one, _Byelth replies silently as Claude and Jeralt lead the way out of the room. She follows, still trying to decide what Rhea had intended for them to get out of this show and why the Kingdom seems so hell-bent on destroying her.

* * *

There’s a fire in Dimitri’s eyes when she explains the situation. He looks disgusted, while behind him Dedue is stiff and silent. Annette’s fingers curl into Felix’s sleeve near the wrist, and he doesn’t pull his arm away. Mercedes whispers a prayer while Ingrid and Sylvain share a look, but Ashe is too numb to respond to anything except the news that the men will be executed. Once Byleth tells them that part, he disappears from the classroom. She lets him go.

“The Kingdom will break itself apart before I ever wear the crown,” the prince mutters. “Damn it!”

“Your Highness, you have more allies than you know. They will preserve your throne. You will be able to make things right,” Dedue tells him, but he merely shakes his head and stares down at his hands, which are shaking.

“So much discord…I wouldn’t be surprised if the Church decides to dismantle the Kingdom and split the parts between the Empire and the Alliance.”

Awareness jolts through Byleth at his words. _From the mouths of babes, _she thinks. Is this what Rhea is planning? Or something similar? The Church had split Fódlan before, does it—does _she—_have the power to change the map once more?

“I know it’s a lot to ask, but please remember: we don’t know if these men were a part of a conspiracy, or if they were working alone. A group of knights will be escorting an envoy to the Western Church in order to discover what led to today’s events. Until we know more, we need to get back to work,” she tells them. “Everything you learn here will help your homelands, so it’s more important than ever to work hard.”

“We can do that,” Annette says. Mercedes hums her agreement, and Felix nods and crosses his arms over his chest. Sylvain plops his arm around Ingrid’s shoulders and says, “Count us in,” though his grin is halfhearted.

“Good. Take the day to clear your minds and reach out to your families. We’ll begin a new training regime tomorrow, so rest while you can,” she says. Her students nod, and while they turn to discuss the assassination attempt with each other, she slips out of the room.

* * *

The Goddess Tower’s highest chamber is beginning to look like a library. Byleth steps around piles of books, not all of them from the monastery’s approved list of reading or reference materials. Claude is sitting cross-legged near one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, a book in his lap and a quill in his hand. He glances up as her footsteps draw near.

“You found me, Teach,” he says, dropping his gaze back down to his book.

“I almost didn’t think to look here. But you like having the high ground.”

He smiles a little. There isn't much mirth in it. “Archer’s preference,” he replies without looking up again.

“I have some questions I want to ask you.” She mirrors him, sitting a few feet away with her legs crossed. It’s a little disconcerting how much she wants to close the distance between them, how much she wants him to touch her again. But the thought of him reaching for her is distracting, so she forces herself to speak instead. “Though you don’t seem very talkative at the moment.”

Something bitter flickers across his expression. “After Rhea’s little display down there? No, I’m not exactly in the mood for company. But for you, I’ll make an exception.” His eyes dart up to hers and his tongue flashes across his lower lip: he’s nervous, she realizes. Well, that makes two of them.

“About the sparring match,” he begins, just as she says, “Do you believe the Kingdom is—?”

“Ah,” he laughs. “I should have known you’d be all business.”

“No, I…I wanted to talk about that, too. I didn’t know where to start,” she replies.

“I just wanted to say—I would never have—you’re a beautiful woman, Teach, and my body reacted accordingly. But I’d never—”

“I know. We can pretend it didn’t happen.” Not that she really wants to. She watches his eyes when she adds, “I trust you.” Her reward is that they widen slightly, and his cheeks heat just a little before he regains control of himself.

“Well, maybe trusting me isn’t such a great idea…but thank you,” he says as he looks away. “So…what was that about the Kingdom?”

“Dimitri thinks that these are isolated incidents that reflect the fractured state of his Kingdom,” she tells him. He smirks a little.

“You don’t think that, though…do you, Teach?”

She shakes her head and he smiles at her like she’s won a prize.

“Right. There’s no way all of these attacks are coming from the Kingdom at random. The timing is too convenient. So either someone is trying to destroy the Central Church, someone is trying to destroy Lady Rhea, or someone is trying to take over the Kingdom.” He ticks each possibility off as he says it, studying her as he finishes the list.

“There’s another motive to consider,” she says quietly. She reaches out and curls her hand around his fingers, forming his own into a fist with just one finger still extended. “_Rhea _wants us to believe that there’s a legitimate threat from the Kingdom so she can assume power over the region.”

He flashes her a razor-sharp grin. “Now you’re getting it.”

“And once she’s gotten control of the Kingdom…”

“…the cycle starts again, probably with the Alliance. She’ll justify centralizing power until she’s unified all of Fódlan, leaving herself perfectly positioned to rule over everyone,” he finishes.

“But wasn't it the Church that split the continent into three sovereign territories in the first place? And I thought that it already has enormous influence over the politics of all three regions,” Byleth says with a frown, pulling her hand back into her own lap. “Why take such drastic measures?”

“Because the Church is split into three parts, just like the continent. And they’ve been growing more and more autonomous as the years go on. So have the territories themselves. Rhea’s power has been waning for a long time, I think,” Claude explains.

“Why does she want so much power?” Byleth asks, and Claude shakes his head.

“Why does anyone want power? And whatever her reasons, there’s no doubt that Fódlan will become locked up even tighter in a web of fear and blind faith if she gets her way. No one will be permitted to think for themselves or ask questions, and people from outside the borders?” He shakes his head. “Heretics. Dangerous upstarts and enemies of the true faith.”

“So what do we do?” Byleth asks. Claude takes a deep breath and gestures vaguely.

“Find evidence of her involvement. Expose the truth. Help Dimitri claim his throne and stop these attacks against Rhea and the Church so she can’t use them as excuses to act.”

“Is that even possible?”

He gives her a wry smile. “Before you got that sword? Maybe not. But where you’re concerned, I’m starting to think nothing’s impossible, Teach.”

“I’m just a normal person,” she reminds him. “Relic or not.”

_I don’t think that’s true anymore, _Sothis says, but Byleth ignores the goddess as Claude looks her over from head to toe.

“That’s your lying face again,” he tells her. “But that’s okay. Keep your secrets for now. In the meantime, we’ve got to try and anticipate where the next attack will come from, and how to stop it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter still feels really...pasted together for me. Sorry about that! I may try to revisit this and clean it up a little, but for now I can't think of how to do any better. Hope you enjoyed it!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is unforgivably overdue and I can't say anything but sorry. It took me way too long to decide how I was going to trigger the events of the next act of this fic, but I've got it all worked out now.
> 
> Also, for those of you not on Tumblr, I recently found out that I'm pregnant with twins! That said, I will try to get ahead on this fic and post more regular updates. Thank you so much for being so amazing and patient with me!

Meetings in the Goddess Tower are becoming a regular occurrence. They climb the tower stairs a few times a week to discuss what Rhea might be planning next, or if Dimitri has received any more reports of unrest. They pour through books about the formation of the Western and Eastern Churches and lean over maps of Fódlan, trying to get a feel for the resources that would be available to unruly Kingdom nobles. Often, it’s rather late at night when they come back down, each weary and frustrated.

For Claude, it’s sweet torture.

He’d been relatively in control of his emotions regarding her right up until he’d ended up pinned beneath her. Now the floodgates are open, and whenever she’s close it takes all his effort to focus. She’s destroyed his concentration, leaving him feeling shattered and impatient for things he can’t have. Things like her moaning his name as he explores every inch of her skin. And it isn’t just lust: he finds he wakes up already wishing for her presence, and drifts off to sleep only by imagining whispered conversations across his pillow. He’s as hungry for her smiles as he is for her body, but every time his imagination runs away from him, the memory of her lightning fast retreat from the training grounds brings him back to reality.

He sighs as he gathers up his lecture notes and heads to his classroom. When he arrives, he finds Seteth waiting for him.

“There’s a situation,” the older man says. His mouth and eyes are grim, and he watches Claude warily. He must know that Claude trusts him about as far as he can throw him, though neither has been anything other than perfectly civil to one another since the school year began.

“Don’t leave me in suspense,” Claude replies with a smile, though one so dry and automatic it must not look anything close to real.

“The Archbishop has asked me to task your House with retrieving a stolen Relic. The eldest son of House Gautier has absconded with the Lance of Ruin. He has no crest; the ramifications of this theft could be dire. The Relic must be retrieved at all costs.”

“A bunch of students against a Hero’s Relic? That doesn’t sound like a very fair fight,” Claude points out. “Why not send Teach with the Sword of the Creator?”

“She and her students have their own mission,” Seteth replies in a tone that brooks no argument. “Besides, Miklan won’t be able to use the Relic. He doesn’t bear a Crest. Your students should be able to handle he and his band of thieves without issue. A senior knight will be sent along as well.”

“Miklan. Miklan Gautier?” Claude frowns. “He stole a Relic from his own House?”

“As I’ve been given to understand, his father has long since disowned him for his lack of a Crest. There seems to be little in the way of familial warmth there.” Seteth shifts his weight. “Do you accept and understand your mission?”

“Sure,” Claude replies, his mind already whirling through everything he knows about House Gautier and its Hero’s Relic. Another threat from the Kingdom…it must be connected to the other troubles. But the only way he’ll understand how it fits in is by going after the Lance himself. “We’ll prepare to deploy.”

“Very good. Report to me when the students are ready. I shall attend to your supplies and transportation.”

Claude nods and Seteth spins on his heel and leaves the room. The students dodge around him as they make their way to their seats.

“Was he lecturing you or giving us a mission?” Hilda asks. Claude shoots her a look.

“Is that any way to speak to your esteemed professor?” He lifts his hands and shakes his head, then adds, “It was a mission. We’re headed to the Kingdom to retrieve a Relic. Which means we’ll all be doing extra training in the next few weeks.” Hilda opens her mouth, no doubt with some excuse to avoid any physical exertion, but Claude cuts her off. “_All_ of us, Hilda.”

The students begin to chatter at the mention of a Relic. It takes a while to refocus them on the day’s lesson, but though most of them seem a little intimidated by the task ahead, he slowly regains their attention. He’s just about to wrap up the lecture and set them loose for the afternoon meal when Sylvain enters the room.

He stays near the back and bows an apology for the interruption. But Claude has lost the room again, and there isn’t enough time to get them back on task. He lets them go to lunch early, then gestures for Sylvain to join him at the front of the empty classroom.

“You’re going after my brother,” Sylvain says without preamble. “I want in.”

Claude feels his body go still. He studies Sylvain’s face carefully. “I’m not sure that’s such a great—”

“It’s the best idea I’ve had in a long time. I’ve _earned _the right to take him down myself. He’s been a miserable bastard my whole life, and I’m not sitting around here while someone else cuts him down.”

He’s so vehement that Claude feels a chill slide down his back. Sylvain’s pain and disgust are like raw, open wounds: obvious but hard to look at. With a long-suffering sigh, Claude nods.

“As long as Teach signs off on it, I don’t have a problem with you joining us.”

There’s a grim sort of triumph in the redhead’s eyes. He’s too young to look so pleased by the prospect of revenge, but who is Claude to judge? He can only hope that Sylvain won’t be a liability.

* * *

It’s miserable and wet when he and the rest of the Golden Deer (with Sylvain in tow) arrive at the tower that Miklan Gautier and his band of thieves have taken as a stronghold. Claude ushers the students inside after a quick strategy meeting with Gilbert, the Seiros Knight Seteth has assigned to babysit them this time out.

What starts as a tough battle after a long climb to the top of the tower turns into a nightmare before their very eyes.

Hilda is clutching her axe, flanking Marianne as she heals Ignatz from a slice from an enemy lance. Lysithea has fallen back slightly to conserve some of her magic. Lorenz and Raphael are ahead of them, but it is Claude and Sylvain that have the front row seats to Millan’s horrific transformation.

“By all the gods,” Claude mutters under his breath as the beast rears over them, howling in outrage. Beside him, Sylvain cries out in shock and disbelief.

“Mi—Miklan?” His brown eyes are huge as he takes in the creature that his brother has become. For an instant, Claude wonders if the redhead will freeze or break down. But only for an instant. The next moment, Sylvain has launched himself back into the fight.

It is a furious struggle. Claude forces Ignatz to stay back as the monster hurls chunks of the tower at the fighters. Raphael plunges in but pulls back after a few moments so Marianne can heal him after a brutal swipe of claws. The battalions help them expose the creatures weak points at last, and Lysithea’s magic makes quick work of it after that.

There isn’t much of Miklan left, though the Lance of Ruin seems unharmed. Sylvain stares at the body of his sibling, but if he has any last words, he keeps them to himself. Instead, he picks up the bloody Relic and heads back toward the stairs.

* * *

“He won’t talk to me about it.” Byleth stares out of the Goddess Tower’s window. “Perhaps I shouldn’t expect him to. And he has Felix and Ingrid. But he doesn’t seem to be himself.”

“No, I’m sure he isn’t.” Claude sits beside her on the floor. “It was…” But there are no words. He shakes his head and looks out at the blue sky.

“And it happened because he didn’t have a Crest?” she asks.

“That’s the theory. What’s worse is that Rhea seemed to know that it would happen. She said that’s why she rushed us out there, but he’d already had the Lance for weeks.”

“You think she stalled on purpose?”

Claude considers her question. “No, but I can’t help but wonder if this is just one more event she can use to her advantage. It would make for some pretty powerful propaganda in support of the Church’s doctrines.”

“I wonder what the effects of using the Sword of the Creator without a crest stone might be,” Byleth muses. “I certainly haven’t noticed any strange symptoms yet, but…I don’t think such a thing has ever happened before.”

“You _are_ pretty unique, Teach.” Claude gives her a wry half-smile. “Should I tell you if you start to grow scales?”

Byleth’s gaze flashes to his. “Please do,” she says. Her face is perfectly expressionless, but he sees a glimmer of humor in her eyes and it feels like a reward.

Encouraged by this, he gives her a slow smile, letting his eyes smolder at her. He means to tease, but there’s a hint of sincerity in his voice when he says, “Don’t worry, Teach, I’ll be sure to make my examinations _very_ thorough.”

Her eyebrows lift and the corner of her mouth twitches just a little. “You’re a terrible flirt.”

“I’m an _excellent_ flirt!” he shoots back, feigning a wounded tone. “You just happen to be uniquely immune to my charms.”

“Not immune, but I’m not sure that line would have worked on anyone,” Byleth replies. “It was so…corny.”

He laughs and nudges her with his shoulder. “So you’re telling me I’ve got a chance if I come up with better material?”

Her eyes drop to his lips, then back up to meet his gaze. She leans in and, like a magnet, he does as well, his heart already pounding as her mouth approaches his. His hand is just starting to come up in order to guide her the rest of the way in when she gives him a small push and gets to her feet.

“I’m telling you we should get back to the academy before Seteth finds our somewhat blasphemous library.”

_Dammit! _He drops his head and somehow manages not to groan out loud in frustration and embarrassment. But there’s a small part of him that is utterly delighted. _She had been teasing him._ Byleth Eisner, stoic and professional, cool and unwavering in any situation, had actually _teased _him.

Perhaps he hasn’t completely ruined his chances after all.

He reenters the school grounds with a bounce in his step he can’t quite manage to hide.

* * *

Things even out again. As weeks pass uneventfully, Claude and Byleth meet up less often. He doesn’t like it, but even he can’t keep coming up with excuses when life at the Academy has become so…sedate. He wonders if they’re being lulled into a false sense of security, but before he can pursue this line of thought too far, the entire student body begins preparations for the Battle of the Eagle and Lion.

Excitement for the traditional conflict is high and to his surprise, he finds himself getting swept away by it. The idea of beating Byleth and her students is delicious, especially after his defeat in the mock battle earlier in the year. With that in mind, he ramps up the training schedule, something which Hilda laments and Lorenz informs him is probably too little too late. The others don’t seem to mind too much, though Ignatz occasionally gazes off in the direction of the Blue Lion’s homeroom. Claude can sympathize.

Byleth and her Lions are training hard too, but they do so outside of the monastery grounds. That’s probably a precaution against his spying, but he does find himself lamenting the fact that they so rarely bump into one another in the last days before the battle.

“Well,” he says to the rest of the Golden Deer as they replace their training equipment. They’re all sweaty but energized in spite of the extra sparring. “This is it, kids. Time to show the world what the Golden Deer can do. We leave tomorrow, so let’s pack up and get some rest. And try to reserve your strength on the road—we’re going to need everything we’ve got to win.”

“Don’t worry, Professor!” Raphael’s smile is wide and confident. “We’re definitely going to win.”

“At the very least,” Lorenz says with a sniff, “we won’t embarrass ourselves or the Alliance.”

Leonie clenches a fist. “I’m going to take down Professor Byleth myself. Then she’ll know who Jeralt’s true successor is.”

Lysithea just rolls her eyes and wanders out of the training grounds. Claude has no doubt she’ll clean herself up and then find a quiet corner in the library. She never rests until she has to.

Marianne takes Hilda’s hand and tugs her out after Lysithea, but not before the pink-haired girl looks at Claude and says, “You’re doing good so far—so don’t screw this up.”

“Gee,” Claude says with a wry grin, “thanks.”

She gives him a beatific smile and disappears with Marianne.

* * *

Gronder Field is a lovely stretch of land which gleams under a bright sun. It is also, Claude notes with satisfaction, an excellent place to wage war. The copses of wood will offer some protection, and the fortified hill in the center of the field is a tempting target, but the land is otherwise flat and dry enough that the fighters won’t use all their stamina just traversing the grounds.

There’s a low cliff that Rhea and her ceremonial guard have claimed in order to watch the battle progress. Seteth is at her side, cool and unruffled, but his mistress’ eyes are burning with a strange sort of passion. The look on her face is slightly disconcerting. It’s as though she’s anticipating something in particular, and even at a distance Claude can see how her eyes go to the Blue Lions’ starting point over and over. He looks too; the reddish glow of the Sword of the Creator is easy to see even at a distance.

He knows from Sylvain that Rhea had insisted Byleth carry the Relic into this battle, despite the professor’s vehement protests. Why would the archbishop want Byleth to use the Relic against the students?

Something cold settles into his stomach, but there’s no more time to wonder about Rhea’s motives. Above them, the horns sound and a banner drops, signifying the beginning of the battle.

As planned, the Golden Deer make their way toward the hill in the center of the field—but not to take it. It’s too tempting a prize, and he doesn’t want his students in the middle of a war on two fronts. He wants to tempt the Eagles into rushing toward the Lions so that those two Houses will end up fighting each other, with his own Deer then perfectly positioned to pick off any combatants that wander too far from the main event. Once the herd has been slimmed down, he’ll signal for them to split into two groups and mop up anyone left.

A good plan, one he was fairly certain would work even against Byleth—had there not been deadly interference.

The Lions and Eagles slam into each other at the summit of the hill, while Claude’s Deer—having already passed to the far side—position themselves for a pincer attack. Claude’s eyes are flicking through the prospective targets when battle cries ring out from the far side of the field.

Real battle cries.

His head snaps over to the cliff and sees a wave of attackers slam into the small guard Rhea has brought alone. She is flinging magic into the midst of the assassins as she and Seteth retreat down the cliff, while the remaining Knights of Seiros struggle to regroup and cover their escape.

The students are slow to realize what is happening, but slowly the Battle of the Eagle and Lion grinds to a halt. Suddenly their innocent contest turns into a rescue mission as all the students surge toward Rhea, intent on rescuing her and relieving her outnumbered honor guard.

He’s running forward, his eyes taking in the attackers, when Byleth falls in step beside him. Her Relic is in her hand, humming with power that sends goosebumps down his arms.

“A suicide mission,” she says, breathing evenly despite their exertion. “Now that the students are fighting, the assassins are profoundly outnumbered.”

“Maybe they thought it’d all be over by the time we noticed anything was wrong,” Claude replies, not believing a word of it himself.

Byleth only hums in response, her eyes on Rhea as the woman reaches the bottom of the cliff and is engulfed in the first wave of avenging students.

The assassins are quick on her heels, flinging themselves into battle with no regard for their own lives. The students have blunted weapons, but the magic is real enough and seconds later wind, lightning and fire are all flashing across the field.

The massive form of Raphael is easy to spot as he fights his way to Rhea’s side. As Claude pauses to aim an arrow, the young man sends one assassin flying with a massive swipe of his fist. Claude lets out a victorious whoop as his student attacks a second man, releasing his arrow to take down a third just as the Sword of the Creator whips out and catches yet another enemy full in the face.

but Claude's cheer isn’t even over before it chokes to a halt. Two more assassins plunge their blades into Raphael before he can turn. Howling, he throws one of them off, but the other grabs a dagger from his hip and slams it deep into the young man’s throat.

Raphael falls as someone—Marianne, maybe, or perhaps Annette—screams in grief and disbelief.

Claude himself feels frozen, horror overwhelming every molecule of his body at the sight of Raphael falling in a shroud of blood.

Beside him, Byleth lets out a outraged battle cry that might have further chilled him if he didn’t feel so numb already. She charges forward with the Sword, but there’s something else happening too: a light is building from her very skin, for a moment making her almost translucent before it bursts from her so brilliantly that she disappears from sight. When it fades a second later, the Sword is glowing even more fiercely, but now it’s being wielded by an almost-stranger with bright green hair and eyes.

While the Knights charge from the cliff and the students attack in a wave from the valley, Byleth cuts her way through the assassins without seeming to expend any effort—or mercy—at all. Claude does his best to help, firing arrow after arrow though it takes an effort to steady his shaking hands between each shot. His guilt and grief and astonishment are threatening to leave him frozen on the field, so he forces himself to ignore everything but the fight.

After that, it is over very quickly. The students begin to break, some moving aside to tend to wounds and others moving to Raphael’s body. Byleth’s skin stops glowing and her Sword fades as she stands beside Rhea, panting. Her hair and eyes remain that haunting green.

And Rhea? Despite the bloodshed—despite the death of one of her students—Rhea looks at Byleth as though she’s just won a prize.

Claude leans over and vomits into grass before he too makes his way to Raphael’s slashed and broken body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know...I'm really sorry. I love Raphael too!!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> I'm sorry to say that Raphael is dead. A lot of people asked about Divine Pulse, but in this story Byleth doesn't have that power--yet. So he is truly gone. I'm really sorry! I promise he won't be forgotten even though he won't physically be in the story anymore. <3 Thank you for all the love and support!!!
> 
> And the pregnancy is going really well, although it's crazy how tired I am all of the time. But both are developing right on schedule! We won't know the genders for a while yet but I'm dying to know! It's hard to wait haha!

The journey back to the monastery is silent and for Byleth, very isolating. She’s filled with a deep ache when she thinks of Raphael, always cheerful and ready to help. The memory of his smile empties out her chest and leaves her with a dull agony that there is no relief from. She welcomes the pain. She failed to protect him, pain is what she deserves. It’s the least of what she deserves.

Even Sothis is subdued, lingering somewhere in the back of Byleth’s mind, her presence heavy with sympathy.

_I am sorry I couldn’t lend you the power to change it. I tried—that must be why your appearance has changed so drastically. But in the end I couldn’t seem to make the final connection_, the goddess says.

“How would you have changed it?” Byleth asks. Her voice is hoarse.

_I am the Beginning. Once I could control time, turn it back. Oh, I couldn’t rewind with impunity, but if I had been able to lend you my powers it would have been enough_.

Byleth laughs. It’s a bitter sound that hurts her throat on the way out. “Yes, that would have been quiet useful.”

Sothis stirs, ready to chide her host for her flippancy, but then she falls silent again. _I am truly sorry. I’ll keep trying to find a way to break through. Perhaps we can save the next one._

The next one. Byleth’s stomach roils. There will almost undoubtably be a next one if things continue to spiral out of control the way they have.

She won’t look at her new self, though the students all stare when she’s near. She remembers how Rhea reached out and touched the newly-minted strands of her hair with reverent fingers. Raphael was still on the ground just a few feet away, but the Archbishop had eyes only for Byleth. The memory makes her shiver with disgust.

They had fashioned a casket for Raphael from the trees near Gronder field, lingering for an extra day to ensure its proper construction. They covered its rough edges with Leicester’s banners. His body, washed and dressed in fresh clothing, is now traveling as if in state, pulled in the back of a wagon near the head of the procession and draped with flower garlands that the students have been weaving around the fire or during the walk. Knights flank the wagon, honoring this lost soul for his bravery. Byleth honors him too, even as she wrestles with the shame of failing him.

Claude walks behind the wagon in silence. He speaks with no one and looks at nothing but Raphael. The Golden Deer follow him, though Leonie has to help Ignatz to walk. He is weeping too hard to continue alone.

When they return to the monastery, a proper casket will be fashioned for Raphael. Then he will be escorted to his home village by ten Knights of Seiros and buried with all due honors. But his grandfather and sister probably won’t be able to take much comfort in that.

She looks at Claude once more, wonders if she should walk beside him…but she doesn’t. He seems to be locked away in a very private place, and she wants to respect that. She understands it. There will be time enough at the monastery to speak. For now she lets him grieve in peace, and wonders if he feels as responsible for this tragedy as she does.

Ahead of her, the road stretches on and she has no choice but to keep traveling along it.

* * *

Though Rhea tries to catch Byleth’s attention once they’re all safely ensconced behind monastery walls, she ignores the Archbishop and retreats quickly toward her own quarters. She is in no mood for a chat, though she has a feeling the older woman has some idea of what has happened to her and why she’s changed.

“What exactly _has _changed?” she asks Sothis once they’re alone. “You said you couldn’t share all your powers with me, but something happened.”

_Your endurance and strength have both been enhanced. Weapons will do less harm to your physical form, though you are not invincible. Others will find you more persuasive or compelling than ever before. And your connection to that Relic of yours is stronger too, though I can’t explain that one. _The goddess pauses, then adds, _I have other powers but I’m not sure how to impart them to you, unless…_

“Unless?”

_I can’t remember. Oh, this is so frustrating! Let me think on it and I’ll get back to you._

With that, Sothis retreats to a quiet corner of her consciousness and Byleth feels truly alone for the first time in days. She sheds her armor and changes into clean clothes, then sits on the edge of her bed and clenches her fists hard enough that her fingernails are digging into her palms.

_Raphael, _she thinks. A deep thrum of pain rolls through her from head to toes and her eyes slip shut. _I’m so sorry._

She doesn’t hear her door click open or shut once again, doesn’t hear approaching footsteps. But she does feel the bed dip a little as someone takes a seat beside her, and a familiar scent tells her before she can open her eyes that it’s Claude.

“Thought you might try to stab me for sneaking up on you,” he says, trying to joke and failing miserably. His green eyes are a haunted, trapping her in place.

“No one else would come in here like this,” she tells him.

He gives her the smallest smile and retorts, “That’s probably because you’d try to stab them.”

“You’re right. I’m not too fond of surprises,” she agrees. Then her countenance softens and she slides a hand over to cover one of his where they rest on his thighs. “I’m sorry.”

He swallows hard and looks away. “So am I. So godsdamned sorry. But what does that matter?”

“It matters,” she assures him.

His eyes are searching hers, penetrating deep past her walls like he wants to see right into her heart. She has to fight not to flinch from his gaze: she knows that to pull away now would damage their relationship irrevocably. And she realizes that she doesn’t want that. Not when they’ve just lost someone else.

“Raphael was a good man. One of the few truly good men I’ve ever met.” A muscle twitches in Claude’s jaw and she wants to soothe the tension there, but she doesn’t know how. “And I keep telling myself that he died a brave death. A worthy death. But did he? Something about that situation seems very…off. So what did he really die for?”

“He died for us,” she replies. “He would be happy knowing the rest of us made it out alive.”

“I should have stopped him. I was his teacher, I’m the one that should have spotted the danger,” he says.

“You don’t carry that burden alone. Any of us might have saved him if we’d…” She trails off. “He should have been safe with all of us, but we all failed him.”

Claude turns his hand over underneath hers and laces their fingers together. He squeezes her gently. “We can’t fail the others.”

Byleth thinks of Sothis’ powers, the ones she still can’t access. The ones that might make all the difference in their next true conflict. She squeezes his hand back.

“We won’t,” she replies.

A moment of silence passes, and then he touches her hair with his free hand. “What happened to you out there, Teach?”

She hesitates, then lets out a slow, steadying breath. “You’ll probably think I’m insane but…I’ll tell you.”

He doesn’t answer, instead urging her on with another gentle squeeze of his fingers. So she begins, tells him all about Sothis appearing to her when she’d first touched the Sword of the Creator, right up until the conversation she’d just had with the tiny goddess moments before Claude’s arrival. Her voice is steady but she finds she can’t look at him. She’s afraid to see the disbelief on his face.

“You’re telling me…you’re part goddess?” he asks at last. She nods and stares down at their joined hands.

“I suppose that’s the best way to describe it. It must have something to do with what Rhea had done to me when I was a baby, but…not even my father knows what that was. All he knows is that I would have died without her intervention.”

“And she’s _definitely _interested in these changes,” he observes. “I saw how she was staring at you.”

“She wants something from me,” Byleth murmurs. “And she’s closer to getting it than ever before.”

“Do you think she’ll go as far as hurting you to get it?”

She meets his gaze at last. “I don’t think there’s anyone she wouldn’t hurt if it meant success with…whatever is happening.”

Claude’s mouth is pinched in a grim, straight line. “We need to know what she knows. And then we’ve got to take her down.”

Byleth nods. “I don’t think we have a choice about that anymore. But we’ll need an army.”

“In that case,” Claude replies with a lopsided grin, “it’s a good thing we’re training one, isn’t it?” He untangles their fingers and stands back up. “I suppose I’d better go. Wouldn’t want Seteth to find me locked in here with you.”

She glances to the door. Had he locked it? It’s probably a wise precaution considering the topics of their discussion, but the more intimate implication sends a strange thrill through her. To distract herself, she stands too. It only seems polite to walk him to the door, though it’s only a few feet away.

They both step toward it and he unbolts the lock—but hesitates there, his hand still on the knob.

“It suits you, you know,” he says to her. He gestures to her eyes and hair with his free hand. “Your new look, I mean. It’s very…captivating.”

Whatever she’d been expecting, it wasn’t a compliment on her altered appearance. “Thank you,” she replies, unsure of what else to say.

His eyes drop from her face. “And thank you for…being here. I don’t think I’ve ever had that in my life before. Not a lot of friends growing up.”

“I didn’t have many either,” Byleth tells him.

“I wish I had known you like this back in school,” he says quietly. And though he had tormented her endlessly back in those days, she finds herself saying, “Me too,” in a soft voice.

Tension is growing between them but she doesn’t understand it, doesn’t know where it’s coming from. All she knows is that her skin is beginning to buzz with awareness and adrenaline is singing through her veins. Then he reaches out and brushes his fingers along the bare curve of her forearm, watching with hunger as her breath catches, and all at once she understands perfectly.

She starts to speak—with absolutely no plan, as her mind is completely blank—but before she can stumble across any words, he spins her around and pins her against the door, and then his mouth is on hers.

Byleth’s lips part on a gasp and his tongue is there, sweeping over her lower lip deliciously before it dips in to stroke along her own. Immediately, she grabs the fabric of his tunic in both hands to pull him closer, while his open palm slides over her hip and coaxes her arch into him.

Again and again, he takes her mouth, pausing to tease her lower lip when she pulls away for quick gulps of air. When she drags her fingernails across his scalp, he groans and rocks into her. Then his grabs her ass and uses the leverage pull her flush against him as he rolls his hips into hers again, his erection grinding against her core so deliciously that she can’t stop the pleading little sounds escaping her throat.

He hooks her legs around his waist and lifts, and the change in position has her trying to fight breathless little moans as their bodies move together against the door. One of his newly freed hands slips under the hem of her undershirt, and the feel of his archery-calloused fingertips catching and rolling her nipple soon has her gasping his name, all but begging as his mouth leaves a hot trail over her jaw and neck.

Not to be outdone, her hand snakes down between their thighs so she can cup him through his breeches. He growls her name as her fingers trace the thick length of him and her palm rolls over the head. Another firm rub has him bucking into her hand, and she groans as she imagines every inch of him sliding into her.

She might have let him take her right up against the door if a crash and several student’s voices outside hadn’t snapped them both back to their senses. Claude pulls his mouth away from the curve of her neck to stare at her. His pupils are blown so wide there’s almost no green left, and his chest heaves against hers as he pants for breath. Byleth freezes too, her hand still cupped around him through his clothing.

Slowly, regretfully, he sets her back on her feet and she lets her hands fall off of his body.

“This isn’t the right time,” he says, his voice rough with frustrated desire. She only nods, not trusting herself to speak just yet. He’s right: they’re both reeling from grief and shock. It’s wrong to indulge in this now. But she wants to.

Claude leans forward and captures her lips in one last, searing kiss before he drops his forehead against hers. “Just so we’re clear…someday _very_ soon, we will finish what we started here,” he promises her.

Before she can say anything in response, he slips out of her door and disappears.

She takes several unsteady steps over to her desk and sinks into the chair. Her eyes fall on lesson plans and essays but she doesn’t really see them. Instead she tuns her tongue over her tingling, swollen lips and wonders if, somewhere in the last ten minutes, she’d fallen asleep and dreamed the whole thing.

_He kissed me_, she thinks.

_Sweetheart_, Sothis replies patiently, _he all but devoured you._

The words make Byleth shiver. She doesn’t know when she’d started to want him so badly, but now that want is going to be impossible to ignore. _Someday very soon_, he’d said…but she isn’t sure how much longer she can wait.

* * *

Rhea finally catches up with her the next day. It’s inevitable, Byleth supposes, but she had been on her way to see her father so the interruption is especially unwelcome. Even Sothis tuts impatiently as the Archbishop leads them into the private office just off of the audience chamber.

“I’m sorry to waylay you, but we must speak,” Rhea says as soon as the door is closed and they are alone. “After the events at Gronder Field…well, I’m sure you have questions.”

Byleth nods but doesn’t say anything for a moment. Her eyes take in the other woman’s face. She can see the barely tethered excitement behind the composed expression. There is an eagerness in her gaze that is unsettling.

“What will we do for Raphael’s family?” she asks. This clearly isn’t the question that Rhea had been expecting, and it takes her a second to transition to this line of thinking.

“For Raphael’s—?”

“Yes. As I understand it, the family sold off everything of value so he could attend the Academy. Without him to earn a living, they may end up destitute. Is there any way we could assist them?”

Rhea pauses and folds her hands across her stomach. “Yes, I’m sure Seteth can see to some sort of compensation, and of course the Church is obligated to give charitably to any believers in need.”

“In the meantime, my students and I would like to send the family provisions when the Knights return with Raphael’s body,” Byleth says.

“Ah—of course. That’s very thoughtful of you.” Rhea hesitates before gesturing you her head. “But perhaps we should discuss your changes.”

_Don’t tell her about me, _Sothis says quickly. _Let’s just find out what she’s already guessed and go from there._

“Alright,” Byleth agrees, speaking to them both.

“You, my child, are very special. You are especially receptive to the goddess, and may even receive special powers or hear her voice directly.”

“Why?”

“Your mother was…she had very special blood. As do you. And when I saved your father’s life, he too was given some of this special blood. That is why you bear the Crest of Flames, and why you can wield the Sword of the Creator.”

“My body has changed,” Byleth admits.

“And you may even be able to gain more power. There’s a very special ceremony that we can preform, one which may unlock your true potential as a…disciple of the goddess.”

_Disciple, hmm?_ Sothis sounds unconvinced.

“What kind of ceremony?”

“We would need to descend to the holy tomb. There, you may receive a revelation from the goddess herself, and your body and mind would be fully open to receive her,” Rhea explains.

A revelation isn’t what Byleth needs, but…if she’s to save others from the same fate that Raphael suffered, she must access more of Sothis’ power. And this ritual might allow Sothis to make that final connection, the one she couldn’t make at Gronder.

“Alright,” she agrees. “Tell me what I need to do.”

“Seteth and I will need time to make the preparations,” Rhea says. Her hands are trembling with anticipation. “But by the full moon, everything will be ready for you.”

“Very well.” Byleth nods. “With your leave, I’ll return to my students. We have provisions to gather.”

Rhea nods and she turns on her heel and leaves, but she doesn’t seek out her students. Instead, she resumes her search for her father.

* * *

Jeralt is in the graveyard, sitting cross-legged near her mother’s headstone. He is making a very clumsy flower crown, his thick fingers moving slowly and carefully as he manipulates the tiny stems. Byleth sits beside him and watches for a few long moments, loathe to interrupt this ritual.

Finally, Jeralt finishes and drapes the crown over the top of the headstone with a melancholy smile.

“She always looked lovely with flowers in her hair,” he says, perhaps more to himself than to his daughter. Then he looks at her and reaches up to brush his thumb over her cheek. “You look even more like her now than you did before.”

“What is Rhea to me?” Byleth asks. He flinches, then sighs and drops his shoulders.

“I’m not entirely sure. I suppose the closest approximation would be aunt, but I was never really clear on your mother’s relationship with her either. They shared blood, that’s all I know.” He glances up in the direction of the Audience Chamber. “She’s always treated you more like a mother than anything else.”

“She says that I am particularly sensitive to the goddess.”

Jeralt snorts. “Pious nonsense.”

_How rude!_ Sothis protests. But Byleth doesn’t correct him. Instead she says, “She wants to perform some sort of ritual in a holy tomb.”

Jeralt doesn’t answer. He hums low in his throat but doesn’t seem to have any insight to offer her. His eyes meet hers. “I don’t think I have to tell you to be on your guard, do I?”

“No.” Byleth lips curve a little and she touches his arm. “You’ve drilled that lesson into me often enough. But…is…is Rhea a good person?”

Her father’s expression hardens. “You know, I’ve spent a considerable amount of my life trying to answer that very question, and I’m still not sure. Which probably means that no. She’s complicated, capable of greatness. But good?” He shakes his head.

* * *

The entire monastery mourns for Raphael; everyone from the students to the cooks to Gatekeeper all express their heartfelt sorrow at the passing of the young man. The cathedral is packed the day of his requiem mass, and the Golden Deer traverse the ground in a tight knot. Ignatz drifts along with them, a pale shadow, and only manages a few weak smiles. Most of them are aimed at Ashe, who offers quiet but unending support.

The Knights leave with Raphael’s body, taking with them wagons full of provisions, gifts and condolences from his many friends and peers. Byleth is proud of how everyone has come together to ensure Maya especially knows how loved and honored her brother has been. They all line up to see the grim procession off, and then the schedule returns to a subdued normal. Whatever preparations Seteth and Rhea are making for the ceremony she’s to undertake are done out of sight. It isn’t mentioned to her again.

Then they announce the ball.

It comes as a shock to most of the still-grieving students. The staff is told that it is a tradition after the Battle of the Eagle and Lion and that hopefully it will give the students something to look forward to after such a momentous loss. But even to Byleth, the move seems tone deaf and badly timed. Instead of being excited, a number of students express feelings of guilt about enjoying themselves so soon after Raphael’s death.

She, Claude and Manuela try to bring this up to Seteth, but he only shakes his head.

“Lady Rhea is determined, and the ball has already been put on hold for weeks. I’m sorry—I sympathize with you. But I’m afraid she won’t change her mind. She wants things to get back to normal as soon as possible, and the students may find themselves ready for a little levity in a couple more weeks. The term will be over soon and we must ensure that they have recovered and are prepared for graduation,” he tells them.

Claude’s face is thunderous, but Byleth says, “Then we should turn it into a celebration of Raphael’s life. We can find ways to include him, so the students don’t feel like he’s being forgotten,” and that softens his expression a little.

“I’ll help,” Manuela offers. “And I’m sure some of the students will too.”

“Very well,” Seteth agrees. The professors turn to leave at this dismissal, but then he adds, “Professor Eisner, may I have a private word?”

Byleth pauses. Claude shoots her a look before he steps out of the office and closes the door behind him. This must have something to do with the ceremony, but she’s surprised Seteth is speaking about it without Rhea present. She turns to face him and waits for him to continue.

He shifts uncomfortably. There’s something pinched about his expression, as though he feels as if he’s betraying someone. Then he says, quietly but urgently, “This ceremony we’re preforming…I’m not sure what the significance is, yet I am left with the impression that it may somehow…change you. I don’t know if that means it will cause you harm, but I…worry about it. You must be cautious. There are not many of our bloodline left in the world, and while it is unthinkable that Lady Rhea might do anything to put you in danger, there is something about this that I don’t like.”

“Our bloodline?” Byleth repeats.

“Yes. We are special, different than the others. We share the blood of the saints, of the goddess herself it might be said. That is why you have changed already, and why you may grow more powerful still. Lady Rhea seems to believe that you are especially unique, even among our kind. She’s pinned high hopes on you, but I’ve never seen her like this before.” He sighs. “It’s…obsessive. And it concerns me.”

“I’ll be on my guard,” she assures him. “But do you have any idea what I should be guarding against?”

“No,” he replies. “I’m sorry, I wish I knew more.”

Byleth nods and sighs to herself. These mysteries and secrets are starting to wear on her patience, but she appreciates that Seteth has taken a moment to express his concerns to her.

“Thank you, Seteth,” she says, and turns to leave again. He hesitates, then touches her arm to halt her.

“This may sound disingenuous after my initial distrust but…I consider you family now. If I can help you, I will. And I will be there during the ceremony. I hope I’m just being a suspicious old man, but if you require my aid or protection, you will have it.”

For a moment, Byelth doesn’t respond. She’s stunned by this offer and the sudden shift in their relationship. In the end, all she can manage is a quiet but sincere, “Thank you.”

He nods to her and releases her arm, and Byleth excuses herself from his office. What is Rhea up to that has so many people feeling anxious? And how can she stop it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A rating change is coming up in the next chapter!


End file.
